


Poison & Wine

by JustCrushALot



Series: duets [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Married Life, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCrushALot/pseuds/JustCrushALot
Summary: I don’t love you, but I always will.-----------------------------Tobin shakes her head...  “I can’t believe this…  you’ve just made this whole plan up… assuming I’d retire…”“Okay, Tobin. You need to calm down right now and stop blaming me. Do you want to talk about selfish? About making plans without the other?” Christen fumes, tears staining her cheeks. “How about that girl from the bar the other night? Huh? Is she part of our plan?”
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: duets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826677
Comments: 222
Kudos: 432





	1. You only know what I want you to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DODO24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DODO24/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: This story was part of a series of co-written projects with musingpredilection before she left the fandom. She'd write Tobin's perspective and I'd write Christen's. Every interaction between them was live-written. -JCAL 
> 
> ——— 
> 
> This fic is based on the song Poison & Wine by the Civil Wars. Listening to the song is not required to read, but we suggest you do listen. It’s a great song and it’ll really give you our vibe. 
> 
> This is also a bit of an experiment in fic writing. We each wrote one perspective: T or C. The chapters alternate and are based on each line in the song. The chapters from Tobin’s perspective are the lines sung by John Paul and the chapters from Christen’s perspective are the lines sung by Joy. We live-wrote the “chorus” chapters together. 
> 
> We’d love to hear your guesses for which of us writes T and which writes C!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> JustCrushAlot ❤️ + musingpredilection 🤙

It always feels good when she steps out of the showers. Clean and fresh. Win or lose, she carries infinite gratitude for the simple fact that she is pulling that jersey over her head again. It’s always a privilege to suit up for the States. Admittedly, her heart’s even lighter tonight because the team pocketed another win to uphold the streak they have had going for quite a while now. That and she’d managed to snag an assist off a free kick and a no-looker goal after a couple of daring dances around defenders; she’s on cloud nine from this match. She slips on joggers that hug her hips and ankles but flow down the length of her legs and tugs a U.S. Soccer t-shirt over her wet head. After towel drying her hair a bit more, she habitually slips off the silicone band from her ring finger and replaces it with a simple gold one. After taping her left finger for countless matches and endless nagging of her wife, she finally invested in a good ole silicone band. Now after a couple of years of marriage and a lifetime of commitment to one another, she’s finally given up on using white athletic tape to serve as a reminder on the pitch.

Once the gold band is secure on her left ring finger, she raises her hand up to kiss it quickly. Again, a habit, but an important one. The feeling of the cold metal against her lips is a reminder to her about what, and more importantly, who she left at home: a home in Portland, adventures with the love of her life. The woman whose name and fingerprint are engraved on the ring she wears.

“Toby, let’s go!” one of the coaches hollers into the locker room. “Come on, almost everyone’s on the bus.” The small attempt to rush her fails miserably. Tobin continues to move at her own leisurely pace, slipping into slides and packing the rest of her bag.

When the chill player enters the bus, she is bombarded by chaos. She finds herself high fiving a few younger players on her way to the back to join her peers. The bus is a rambunctious mess, almost as if they won the World Cup again.

“SHUT OUT Bitch!” Ashlyn, one of her best friends on the team, shouts into her ear as she slides into the seat next to her. “No one’s gonna stop us!”

“Hell yeah! We’re the best in the world Ash!” Tobin exclaims. 

“So you ready to party it up again? I played for the first time in forever, you were extra badass tonight… Let’s get lit tonight!!!” Ashlyn insists. Tobin chuckles nodding her head in agreement; both taking note they are four days away from another match with a full rest and recovery day tomorrow. This is the perk of getting old: veterans always get a day to allow their bodies to recover.

“WOOOO!” Ashlyn throws her arms in the air only to be scolded by her wife. She merely shrugs fake whispering back that "it’s just part of living up to the back-of-the-bus reputation."

Tobin is preparing to reply to Ali with her own snarky remark when her phone begins to ring. Her wife’s contact photo pops up on her phone. “Hey, Babe.” Ashlyn shoots her a teasing look, as Tobin responds by sticking out her tongue. “Thanks. How are you tonight? What did ya have for dinner?” Tobin gets a near-perfect recount of her wife’s evening starting directly after work bringing them up to the present. “Yeah, yeah… we’re just going out for dinner.” … “Yes, I’ll be drinking.” … “Only a little bit.” … “No, you’re the only girl for me Christen Press.” Tobin flirts with her wife earning an eye roll from Ashlyn. A few giggles and a few love sick comments later, Tobin concludes the call with her wife wishing her a good night.

“You’re only having a few?” Ashlyn whines as the bus pulls up to the hotel to drop them off.

“Nah… that’s just what Chris wants to hear,” Tobin says callously. Ashlyn begins to offer a chastising reply, but the midfielder quickly interrupts. “What Christen doesn’t know won’t kill her.” Tobin stands up and throws her orange bag over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go celebrate! We aren’t getting any younger.”

Countless shots later with very little food to soak up the alcohol now coursing through the soccer players' blood streams, they find themselves on the dance floor of a dive bar near the hotel. Tobin is ungracefully leaning up against the bar happily third-wheeling her best friends. Ashlyn, practically draggs Ali to the dance floor, and is now enjoying her wife dancing up against her. For her part, Tobin is comfortably enjoying the company of a dark-haired stranger. 

The woman is unlike most girls she meets in bars on these sorts of nights. She’s usually acquainted with ditsy young college girls who want, primarily, to flirt with soccer-star Tobin Heath and maybe even make their way into her bed. This one, though, is intriguing: despite the liquor that pulses through her veins, she speaks intelligently and challenges Tobin. Well educated and well spoken—two qualities Tobin admires in her wife. Two qualities she hasn’t been able to witness in her wife recently. She blames the travel for that one: both her travel for club and country and her wife’s travel for work. The woman next to her has captivated her and she scoots closer, listening intently. While she listens, she can’t help but allow her eyes to flit across the woman’s perfect cheeks and down her slim neck to where her collarbones flair out. And below those collarbones are luscious…

“Are you just going to continue using your eyes to trace the lines of my body?” the woman flirts. Tobin returns a smirk. This prompts the woman to lean forward and Tobin is intoxicated by her perfume and proximity to her own body. She can feel the heat radiating from the stranger. As Tobin begins to reach out and put her hand on the woman’s hip and pull her close, the woman’s raspy voice penetrates her thoughts, corrupting them, “Or are you going to make a move?”

That challenge snaps Tobin from her revelry. She stammers and retreats. Her heart pounds as emotions course through her body. Her gold ring burns into her finger as her mind attempts to catch up with her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Tumblr user @christenstobin for feedback!


	2. I know everything you don’t want me to

Christen is sitting alone at the bar, nursing her second gin and tonic, staring at the television when a square-jawed man in a Carhartt jacket slides onto the stool next to her.

“Hi, beautiful. I don’t s’pose I’ve ever seen you around here.”

Christen turns and looks him straight in the eyes and offers with a polite smile, “No, I don’t think you have.”

“Well, my lucky day then, I guess,” he smirks. 

“Almost,” Christen says, picking up her drink with her left hand and clinking her ring on the glass twice before gazing down at her own ring finger.

The man frowns at her before challenging, “Yeah, but those only mean so much. I don’t see him ‘round here anywhere.”

Christen gives a nod toward the TV, breaking eye contact only to attempt to direct his eyes toward the screen. “See number 17 up there?”

The man stares at her, giving only a passing glance at the television, “You into soccer?” 

“I am,” Christen asserts before adding, “do you see number 17?” She reaches her hand out and places her fingers softly on the man’s jaw. He smiles into her touch as the stubble of his beard runs through her lightly anchored fingers. He allows Christen to direct his face toward the television. 

“Yeah, sure.” He chuckles after seeing Tobin on the screen. 

“The ring is hers.” Christen shoots him a shit-eating grin. 

“Well, shiiittt,” the man draws.

He slides back off of the barstool and makes his way back down towards the end of the bar to rejoin a few other men. 

Christen is used to this; she is regularly being hit on at random small-town bars all around the Pacific Northwest. She travels to many isolated towns for work and finds herself in this type of establishment regularly. In some ways, it’s part of the small-town charm and a welcomed reminder that she still has it in her to meet someone new without much effort. Still, she never finds herself tempted to take any of them up on their offers, _unlike her wife_. 

Christen can tell that Tobin has recently developed wandering eyes. She saw it at the coffee shop, when the  _ gorgeous _ (if slightly age-inappropriate) college-aged fan approached Tobin and declared her love. She saw it when the sexy neighbor came over to borrow a screwdriver and Tobin stared at her ass as she walked away. Christen has recokend with the behavior on her own, not daring to bring it up to Tobin. She is confident that Tobin will never act on the desire. Still, she wonders whether she’s holding her wife back from being her best self; whether she is even enough for Tobin. She wonders, too, whether Tobin is enough for her. 

When the game finishes Christen smiles widely. The US has won and Tobin has earned an assist off a free kick and connected for a no-looker goal. Christen feels immense pride for Tobin and their friends, especially Ashlyn, who rarely gets to play, but pulled off several acrobatic saves today. She’d yelled out loud and raised her hands almost every time Tobin made a good play on the ball, not caring what others at the bar thought of her. Her wife was kicking ass. 

Christen closes her tab and ventures across the street to what appears to be the only open restaurant in town. It is a confusing cross between a hole-in-the-wall and a nice steakhouse. There are shutter doors like she is entering a saloon in the old West, and everything seems to be made of reclaimed wood. Nevertheless, the waiters are dressed in three-piece suits and the menu boasts a variety of entrees, some at top-dollar prices. They have a decent local wine list, so Christen orders a red from the Willamette Valley alongside a chicken caesar salad. In her experience, most places in small towns make a reasonably good caesar salad and the chicken can always be picked off if it is too dry. 

Throughout dinner she keeps her phone in her purse, trying not to wonder whether Tobin will call her. She runs through her to-do list for tomorrow in her head again and again. She’s not nervous, per say, she just hates going to a new place and being greeted by older men (and they’re always the older men) who give her that patronizing look when they realize that their boss is so “young and pretty,” as a subordinate in southern Oregon once put it. After she finishes dinner and leaves the restaurant, she decides that if she wants to talk to Tobin tonight, she should call her. Even if the girl is giving up on her, she is not giving up on the girl. 

After a few rings, her wife answers, and Christen pridefully exclaims, “You had such a good game, baby, congratulations!" Their phone call follows a pretty typical end-of-day ritual, " I’m great… I’m on the road, remember? Yeah, so, I had a chicken caesar salad. I drove down here after work today and will go out to the regional station in the morning. I actually went to this dive bar in town tonight to watch you play. Their bartender made a pretty decent G&T, and happily changed the channel to put you all on the big screen. When the game was over, I went to this restaurant that had no idea what it’s brand was. I swear it was this wild-west saloon run by proper english gentlemen trying to operate a high-end steakhouse! Anyway, what are you girls up to tonight?”

Christen checks her watch to look at the time as Tobin tells her that she and some teammates are going out to dinner together. Christen can’t help but ask, 

“You planning to drink?  …  Oh, of course. Celebrate your win, try not to drink too much, ok?.  … Well watch out for those super fans out there, you know they all want a piece of that sexy body. You’re not tempted by those little girls, right babe?  …  And you’re the only girl for me, Tobin Heath, you know I love you. …  I love you to infinity and beyond. Be good tonight babe! Enjoy celebrating your victory! … Bye, love. Talk tomorrow.”

Christen can’t help but feel the lump that forms in her throat as she hangs up with Tobin. Was it really so easy for her wife to be two people at once? Or, maybe she was being honest this time. Maybe she wasn't going out drinking and wouldn't look at anyone else. She tries to push the worried thoughts out of her head as she makes her way back to the rented room she’ll spend her next few days in. 

Christen gets ready for bed slowly and works on her presentation for about an hour before texting Tobin goodnight and climbing between the scratchy sheets. She is overwhelmed in so many ways. She realizes that tomorrow could be a turning point in her career, and she’s guilt-stricken that she hasn’t told Tobin anything about it. As far as Tobin knows, she’s just on another trip to one of the Public Lands to do a site visit and brief them on emerging environmental protocols. 

In truth, her immediate supervisor and his supervisor are both arriving from Washington DC tomorrow afternoon. The stated purpose of their trip is to work alongside Christen in restructuring the local office and planning for the region’s future. Still, there have been whispers that they’re considering Christen for a couple of vacancies: one as a National Environmental Officer based in DC, and one with the National Park Service, based in California. Both would be huge promotions for Christen from her current position in the regional Department of the Interior office. 

Christen sighs heavily as she considers whether she should try to call Tobin and tell her about the possibility that she might be coming home with a job offer. She doesn’t want to ruin her wife’s night, though. And she probably wouldn’t take the promotion anyway. Portland is their home, and Christen wants to make it work—to make them work. 

As she settles into bed, she opens up Instagram and scrolls for a bit. She sees a few stories at the top from places like the Bureau of Land Management, Mount Hood, and Yellowstone National Park, so she clicks through them, smiling at the beauty of the public lands that the images capture. The fourth story to auto-load is Ashlyn’s. She sees Ashlyn boarding the team bus, shouting about their victory. She watches as Ashlyn kisses Ali. The story advances and shows the players clink their shot glasses together just before downing a round of shots, followed by another round of shots with Ashlyn screaming “BITCHHH,” and then another cheers and another round of shots. Ashlyn becomes more visibly drunk with each update, letting on that there are un-filmed drinks consumed between posts. Each time, Christen notices Tobin’s strong hands, veins protruding, in the videos. 

She doesn’t mean to spy on Tobin, but she just cannot make herself click out of the story. She watches, her stomach turning, hoping that the shots will stop soon. Hoping that Tobin will text her at any minute saying that she herself is climbing into bed. 

She can’t help herself; she lets the videos continue to load automatically. Ashlyn is dancing jokingly with Ali. Then, they are grinding on each other, Ali in front of Ashlyn. The video extends to a second story frame as Ashlyn leans down to plant a kiss on Ali’s neck before looking directly into the camera yelling proudly, “I’m the luckiest bitch in the world! Look at my wife!”

Christen touches the left side of her screen to play the second half of the video again. She holds her thumb down to freeze the video just as Ashlyn bends down to kiss Ali. She looks over Ashlyn’s shoulder and sees Tobin, eyes closed, being worked over by a dark-haired girl. Her wife is in the throws of pure lust and passion, dancing with a stranger. Christen had never seen that look on Tobin’s face outside of their bedroom.

Christen closes Instagram as tears fill her eyes. She types “please don’t take her home” into a text to Tobin, but promptly hits the backspace button. She tries again, “I know you didn’t want me to know, but I do. I saw it in Ashlyn’s story that you're out and drunk and dancing with a...” She thinks she sounds too accusatory and deletes the second text as well. She swipes out of her texts and sets her phone to do-not-disturb. She opens her meditation app and starts a 20-minute guided breathing exercise. She cries softly the whole way through but feels better by the end. Her last thought as she drifts off is that she just really wants Tobin to choose her again, the way she used to. 


	3. Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine

Stumbling into her room at nearly two in the morning, Tobin is incredibly thankful that the uneven number of players called up this round has left her without a roommate. She won’t have to attempt to be quiet as she staggers around. After sliding into an old t-shirt and shorts and guzzling some water like she promised Ali she would, she falls into her already unmade bed. She finds herself staring up into the bright overhead light. Moaning and groaning, she swings her legs over the side of the bed with her upper body still prone. She’s internally debating just falling asleep with the blinding fluorescent light on, but she does eventually drag herself over to flip the switch and then flops back onto the bed.

 _"Back to my original objective,"_ Tobin thinks, unlocking her phone to be greeted by its obnoxious brightness. Squinting allowing her eyes to adjust, she thinks of her wife: her beautiful, sexy, perfect wife. She wonders how the rest of her night went. She can imagine her wife pouring over some paperwork, that cute little furrow in her brow forming while she prepares for the next day. Christen might even be muttering some thoughts about which protocols to emphasize during her presentation. She finds herself envious of the inanimate objects in Christen’s hotel room that get the privilege of existing near Christen, even if she is complaining about missing their 1000-thread-count sheets and perfectly fluffy pillows. Her stomach churns with jealousy when she thinks of all of those waiters and bartenders who got to see Christen tonight. Then it’s also churning with guilt as she recalls the woman she danced with tonight. Those two extra shots weren’t enough to burn the memory of those lustful thoughts from her mind. She even tried to wash the shame away with a mixed drink that was more alcohol than soda. That didn’t work either. After another round of self-scolding, she turns back to her phone and types out her typical goodnight message to Christen.

“Sleep well, Babe, I’ll be dreaming of you in my arms in my bed,” turns into a whole jumble of typos. “Seelp wel, abbe, ill be deaming if yuo arsm on ym bed.” Tobin frustratedly deletes the text message to try again. She might be on the verge of blackout drunk, but she can still see the typos and she’s not going to make that mistake again. Last time she sent the goodnight message littered with typos, Christen practically blew up at her, questioning Tobin about how much she had had to drink, her motivations behind getting drunk, and her drinking habits. Christen had been on her case about drinking less and not getting blackout drunk every single time she did imbibe. She had been furious when Christen brought up whether or not her drinking was healthy for her as an athlete. Plus, she had fun when she was intoxicated. It’s freeing to feel the alcohol coursing through her veins as she grooves and lets loose on the dance floor.

After a few more failed attempts at the simple text, Tobin contemplates asking a rookie to do it for her. She quickly nixes that idea though, she’d never want to subject the innocent to her current level of intoxication. In addition, she’d like to avoid any embarrassing inquiries from the rookies as to why she needs to type these words exactly. Only Ashlyn and Ali know the real story behind the message she sends Christen each night.

Chuckling to herself she thinks back to the inception of this text. The texting routine started with a flirty text she sent Christen. Being on the road traveling with both her club and the national team had left Tobin lonely and horny for her girlfriend. She decided to try to entice Christen into sending a few explicit messages to one another. Just a new way to explore their relationship. It had miserably failed though—Christen could barely keep her eyes open that night and fell asleep mid-exchange just after Tobin sent the message she now sends every night. Since then, Tobin always sends this text goodnight when she is on the road, hoping to gift Christen a few laughs before nodding off to sleep.

Returning back to the mission, Tobin tries a few more times to compose the message with zero errors. “SHIT!” she slurs and throws her phone across the room in frustration. She lays back against her pillow and decides it is better to just not send anything. If Christen asks about its absence, which she’s bound to, she’ll just chalk it up to falling asleep and forgetting. Confident in her excuse, she slides down under the sheet and falls into a deep slumber.

* * *

Sun filters into her hotel room. As Tobin pulls herself from unconsciousness, her alarm blares from her phone speakers. Regret that she chucked it across the room shoots into her mind as she rolls out of bed to retrieve her phone. She slams her finger against the small stop button on the glass screen. Flopping back onto the bed, she questions whether breakfast really is important, or if she should just crawl back under the sheets to catch a few more winks. As soon as that thought flits across her mind, her stomach quickly makes that call with a nice growl that vibrates through her entire body, informing her of its hungry state.

Given that there was more liquor than blood in her veins not even twelve hours ago, she feels surprisingly okay. Upon entering the team breakfast area, she is greeted by an extremely hungover Ali and a chipper Ashlyn.

“How the fuck can you both be this ok?” Ali groans, shoving some fruit onto her plate. “You both had like four more drinks than me.” She complains as the pounding shoots through her temples.

“UNC Baby.” Ashlyn chuckles high-fiving her drinking buddy, both of them sober and clear of a hangover. “It’s in our blood.” Ali groans as both former Tar Heels laugh and start to recount the best portions of the evening to each other. They quip about some of their funniest dance moves and the many toasts before rounds of shots. Tobin doesn't dare mention her interactions with the dark-haired stranger.

After the post-breakfast, massage treatment and leg mobility and stretch with the trainers, Tobin takes her free time before team yoga to check her phone. Still no text from Christen. She wonders if her wife just got busy at work today; maybe the site visit wasn’t going very smoothly. Shrugging off her worry, she shoots her a text.

“Hey Babe, hope all is going well today. Can’t wait to talk to ya this evening. Love you.”

Team yoga does wonders for her joints and her hip mobility. Tobin always feels better after those sessions; plus, it’s just a fun team bonding time outside of the pitch. It’s not like the gym, where Dawn seems set on torturing them with the beep test or heavy weights. Tobin is attracted to the chill atmosphere the team instructor creates. Later she joins a few teammates for a few rounds of Mario Kart before dinner. 

Laying on her bed after mealtime, she dials Christen’s number for the first time in a long time. Normally it’s the other way around: her wife calls her. She’s nervously twirling her ring around her left ring finger, before Christen answers. Hearing her wife’s voice come through on the other side warms her whole heart. Her world is complete again.

“Hey Baby, how was your day?” … “Mine was good, just recovery. Beat Lindsey again in Mario Kart.” … “Yeah, last night was fun.” Tobin describes the night purposefully leaving out most of the events she knows Christen would not want to hear. She also braces herself for her wife questioning the lack of goodnight text, for her to utter words that are bound to poison the conversation. But the questions never come. In fact, they are quickly moving onto the remaining travel schedule. “Correct, three more days and one game until I’m home. Ugh, I can’t wait. I just want to be home with you. I miss you, Baby…” 

Tobin mutters quietly into the phone. Her heart yearns for home. It might be her mistakes last night weighing on her mind. Or, maybe it’s the fact that Christen didn’t confront her about the missing goodnight text. She wonders if their little routine doesn’t matter to her wife anymore. Expressing her emotions verbally has never been her strong suit, she wants nothing more than to have Christen beside her so that she can kiss her and demonstrate to her how much she loves her. Her wife’s words of love are sweet, sweet wine. The declaration marinates in her mind, as she replies, “Love you, too, Baby. Night, Christen.” 

The next few days snail by. Her touch is off at practices and her mind wanders during meetings. The coaches chalk Tobin’s performance up to the fact that they are in the final days of their season. Soon, offseason will allow the players to rejuvenate. Tobin snaps at Ali when she asks if her poor performance has anything to do with Christen. _Is her wife ok? Did they have a fight?_ She queries. Tobin denies it all.

She is perplexed. Christen and her conversations are perfectly normal. Christen hasn’t said a word about her missing text. _Are they really so far gone that her wife doesn’t miss their habitual texts?_ She berates herself over and over again for the night at the bar, the dancing, the way the stranger made her feel: totally captivated and full of lust. " _I’m just so lonely,"_ she tells herself. 

It’s evident at the final match that Tobin is off her game. She takes one too many touches, her passes are just a hint too late, she makes reckless tackles in a game that, frankly, doesn’t matter much. The US is up by two when she earns herself a yellow card. When she’s subbed off in the sixtieth minute, she’s relieved. She’s anxious to return home to Portland. To forget the events of the other night… and to be with her wife.


	4. You think your dreams are the same as mine

Christen wakes up to the faint light of morning streaming through a crack in the window shade. She takes her phone off of the bedside table next to her and taps to wake the screen. The first thing she notices is the time: 6:03 am, 42 minutes before her alarm is set to go off. The second thing she notices is that she has only two notifications: one from the New York Times and one from her calendar. Tobin did not text her last night. 

She inhales sharply, her breath unsteady, trying to keep from reading into the situation. Tobin was drunk last night—that much she knows. But that doesn’t mean she brought a stranger home from the bar, even if Tobin has her own room on this trip. But she trusts her wife. She has to. 

She decides a run might clear her head. She has some extra time and will easily be able to get in a couple of miles before she needs to start preparing for her day. She throws on workout clothes and laces up her shoes before stepping outside into the slightly-chilly air. As her feet hit the pavement, she tries her best to focus on her breathing, her steps, on anything other than the missing text message and the image of Tobin wrapped around another woman. She starts to feel better after about a mile and keeps pushing until she feels like she’s run off the sensation of clenching in her chest. When she arrives back at the motel she is sweaty but optimistic. She tells herself she is looking at her phone to see the stats from her run, but before she knows it she is opening the text messages typing a plea to Tobin, “please tell me you came home alone but were just too drunk to remember to text.”

She rolls her eyes at herself, deletes the message, and pushes inside her motel room to prepare for the day.

The day goes absolutely swimmingly. Christen becomes so engrossed in working with the local site reps that she loses track of the time. Before she knows it her supervisors are walking in the front door and greeting everyone. Christen introduces everyone to her immediate supervisor, and he, in turn, introduces everyone to his supervisor. When the latter shakes Christen’s hand he says, “Christen Press, wonderful to meet you. I hear outstanding things about you from everyone. I am honored to finally get to make your acquaintance.” 

Christen feels herself blush deeply as she chuckles and says, “Thanks, I’m just doing the best I can out here. It’s lovely to meet you, too.”

“Well I’m eager to see you in action, Christen. Show us what you've got.” He replies with a wide smile. 

Christen feels a lump rise in her throat as the look in his eye continues to confirm her suspicions that he is here for more than just a site report: If she doesn’t massively screw up this presentation, he’s here to offer Christen a promotion. She feels slightly shaky, but calms herself down mentally and moves forward. 

The presentation goes so well Christen might even call the experience flawless. Everyone is incredibly engaged and when Christen glances around, she finds that her supervisors are scribbling notes furiously. When she finishes, the group actually applauds. It is a bit outside of her typical experience giving presentations at regional sites, and yet it fills Christen with confidence and warmth. 

The team spends the rest of the afternoon working out plans for the rest of the year. By the end of the day, it feels like they have made significant progress toward restructuring the local office in a way that everyone involved is pleased with. It’s a rare easy win for Christen, and she is extremely glad it happened when her supervisors were there to witness the success. At the end of the day her boss asks her: 

“Christen, would you mind joining us for a drink to close out this incredibly successful day?”

Christen knows, by the tone in his voice, that it is more of a demand than a request, so she agrees. The three meet up at a tavern in town and her immediate supervisor saves them a small table while she and his supervisor go to the bar to secure drinks. 

“What’s your poison, Christen? You seem like you might be a whiskey girl to me.”

“Sometimes I am," she chuckles, "but I’ll think I’ll stick to wine right now.”

When they sit down at the table, Christen tries to initiate small talk. “Really great day today, I’m really proud of how much we got done. It was great to have you both there to offer the national perspective on everything. ”

Her boss guffaws. “Great to have us there? You barely needed us at all. Christen, I am so impressed by your leadership, I have never seen one of those meetings executed so well. And,”

His boss interrupts him, “Truly, I was very impressed, as well. Christen, we should just cut to the chase here. You’ve been doing a wonderful job out here and for the region, but you’re meant for a lot more than this. We came out here to see you work in-person, and now that we’ve seen you, we realize that you are even better than we expected. I'm not sure what you've heard, but given the increase in public lands use over the last few years, the National Parks Service recently decided to expand our operations management in DC to have a separate director for the Western Parks. How would you like to be the Deputy Director for Operations of Regions 8, 9, 10, and 12 at the National Parks service?”

Christen chokes on the air. She expected an offer, but not one  _ so _ perfect and _so_ big .

She stutters out, “Wow, I am so completely flattered. What an amazing offer. That certainly is a dream job.”

Her boss cuts in as Christen finds herself at a loss for words, “Listen, we think you're perfect for the job. You already know part of the region well, you have excellent managerial skills, and you know what it takes to turn fledgling operations around. We don’t expect you to accept the offer right now or anything. We’ll send you an email tonight with the formal offer and you can take it home to your wife and decide.”

It occurs to Christen for the first time that she has not once thought of Tobin today. She hasn't even checked her phone. Tobin should have been her first thought when she was offered a major promotion, but her wife has not even crossed her mind. She feels guilty but attempts to push the feeling down as she replies, “Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you! I am truly so honored to even be considered. Thank you so much.”

The rest of happy hour consists of discussion on job details and responsibilities. She feels the guilt in the back of her mind, but she is too excited to care. 

When she finally gets back to her motel room, she sits flops down on the bed with a broad smile on her face. Her phone rings and she is surprised to see Tobin’s name. Usually, she is the one calling Tobin.

“Hi love…My day was wonderful; this has been the easiest site visit I’ve had in a long time. And my supervisors are here, so it was really great to get a win! How about yours? Any training?”

Christen stops short of telling Tobin about the job offer. She tells herself it’s because she wants to tell her about it in person to get to share in her reaction. But deep down she just wants to imagine an uncomplicated reality where she can take her dream job and move across the country without having to ask permission or work anything out. But they would need to work things out. She doesn’t want to admit that it’s easier, right now, if Tobin just thinks they share each other’s dreams for the future. The truth is, Christen has a dream that she doesn’t know Tobin is going to up for.

Being on the phone with Tobin also reminds her how Tobin did not text her last night—how she’d skipped out on their routine. For all Christen knows, Tobin’s phone died on her way to that girl’s place. Christen decides to leave all of her lingering questions for when they’re home. She tries to push down the feeling that she’s selfishly running from any possible conflict with her wife by choosing not to communicate at all. She tries not to admit to herself that, maybe, just maybe, she is giving up a little. 

“Glad you had a day of recovery. It looked like from Ashlyn’s stories, you all have been having a bit of fun!”

Christen listens to Tobin describing the night, leaving out the mysterious stranger from the video. It makes Christen’s heart sink and her limbs feel heavy. She just wants the call to end. There is so much left unsaid, but she wants to say it in person.

“Well that sounds fun, how many days do you have left before you head home? Three?”

After Tobin responds, Christen cannot think of anything else to say. An uncomfortable silence settles over the call. When Tobin mutters “I miss you baby…” it hits Christen in her lungs, promoting her to inhale deeply. After another long of a pause, she breathes out, “I miss you too, Tobes. More than you could imagine.” She doesn't let herself think about the multitude of meaning behind those words. 

When Tobin tells her she loves Christen, Christen believes it. Yet, she feels conflicted; torn between trying to fix things and making an easy escape toward a dream her wife might not share. “I love you, babe. I can’t wait to see you soon. Goodnight.”

When she hangs up with Tobin she opens her texts to find Tobin typing, the little bubbles appearing “Sleep well, Babe, I’ll be dreaming of you in my arms in my bed.” 

She sends back a kissy face emoji like she always does. And then she turns off her phone. 

She opens her laptop to compose a summary of the day for the team, but finds herself writing:

“Sometimes, I think you want me to go. But it’s like every time I try to go, to move on and do something, I just want to come back. I silenced my notifications, hoping that it might let me stay away, but then I wonder too much if maybe you’ve said something and I’m missing it. I keep checking my phone. I keep wondering if maybe you’ve come around and just said “hi.” It’s stupid, I know. We’re adults, we have our own lives, we’re both traveling. But I just feel like a foolish little kid with a really big crush. But if you don’t share that crush anymore, if you don’t feel this like I do, I should move on, right? Do you want to move on?

And, at the same time, there’s this thing I do, when I want you to want me. I pull back. I stop asking you things. I stop telling you things. I hope you’ll notice; that you’ll chase me. I hope it’ll punish you like it punishes me. But you just think I want space, you think that I am busy, or distracted, or that I don't care; you think I don’t want you. It ends up pushing you away, maybe even pushing you toward someone who might give you the attention I’m withholding. In turn, I just pull further back, hoping even harder you will chase me. The thing is—and I know it’s crazy—I need you to read my mind. I’m just really afraid you’ll never notice what I’m trying to say when I run away: I’m asking you to chase me.”

Christen selects everything and deletes it and slowly starts to replace it with her summary of the day. 


	5. I don't love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway. Thank you all for sticking with us through the rollercoaster. This is an angsty fic, but we wanted to give our characters the opportunity to be more than just a few actions on a few days. We hope you'll stick around til the end. This chapter was really special for us because we "live-wrote" it together, not knowing what the other was going to do to advance the plot or say in dialogue. We really enjoyed it and hope it feels authentic!
> 
> We now present to you: 2 writers. One google doc. And a whole lot dinking around.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy 🤙 ❤️

The door swings open giving way to the open-floor-plan apartment. _Home._ Before even closing the door, Tobin closes her eyes and breathes in the faint scent of her wife’s perfume. It’s sweet and elegant. She proceeds to close the door softly, slips off her slides, and drops her duffle bag of clothes to the floor, mildly in the way of the door. But really she can’t think of that. She’s on a mission. She beelines for the glass entrance to the balcony and props the door open to let in fresh air for Christen’s arrival; she knows it will make her wife happy. Satisfied, Tobin then drifts into the kitchen to grab something to eat. Just a small snack as she assumes they will go out to eat once Christen strolls in. Glancing at the clock she notes that she has an hour or so to await the entrance of her wife, she flops down on the couch, grabbing a game controller and committing to playing whatever game boots. It’s always a surprise; it’s her personal little surprise for herself to leave a random one ready to be played when she gets back home.

Christen arrives outside of the apartment 45 minutes after Tobin arrives. She stares at the oversized door breathing slowly in and out, her pulse beating in her ears. Feeling like she might fall over, she steadies herself against her rolling suitcase. She extends out her hand in front of her body, wondering if it is shaking. She finds it to be totally still, and yet, the stillness is surprising to her. She believes the overwhelming turmoil inside would inevitably leak out. Each time she tries to make a move for the door it’s as if her feet are bolted to the floor below her. She can’t fathom what she is about to walk into. _Will it be a typical reunion for them? Is Tobin feeling guilty? Is she disengaged? When will she tell Tobin about the job offer?_

Endless questions race through her mind and her heart beats faster. Other than their wedding day, she doesn’t recall being more nervous to see her wife. She bites her lip and sighs before chastising herself, “Come on, Christen. This is your home, this is your wife, this is your life.” She takes a deep breath and pushes through the door. She immediately notices Tobin’s shoes and duffle bag. The duffle bag actually makes it a bit difficult to get into the apartment, and Christen feels a mix of annoyance and relief that she’s come home to such a familiar scene. She kicks off her shoes and yells into the house: “Tobin? I’m home.”

The moment the words leave her mouth she feels the atmosphere hit her. _Tobin opened the balcony door, she is walking into familiar territory._ Still, she cannot help but feel as though the air is somehow thick and that she will need to fight her way through it to get to her wife.  
  
In mathematics, there is a term for the point where the trajectory of a line changes: it’s called an inflection point. As it applies to Christen’s job, points of inflection occur all the time—when species go from seeing slowly reducing numbers to being on track for extinction, when the amount of visitors to the public lands goes from rising steadily at the end of winter to making a huge jump just as schools let out—trajectories sometimes change. Standing there in the thickening air, Christen realizes that she’s feeling an inflection point in her life, in her marriage. This feels like a moment where the trajectory will undoubtedly change.

Tobin would be lying if she didn’t admit she was startled by the front door swinging open. Her heart furiously pumps blood as her brain grasps that her wife is home. As her thumbs continue to swivel the joysticks around and clatter about on the face buttons, she ponders what her reaction _should_ be. She wonders what she should do. She wants nothing more than to race to the door, take Christen’s bag, that’s almost certainly packed with too many clothes, and pull her for a deep embrace. She’s eager to feel her wife’s lips against her own. But something is stopping her. It’s not the woman from the bar, but it’s what the woman from the bar made her feel. It’s the fact that Christen doesn’t seem to want to give her that feeling anymore; that she didn’t acknowledge the lapse in their routine. Pain penetrates her heart at these facts. 

When Christen comes into view, however, the sight takes Tobin’s breath away. She watches as a small smile crosses her wife’s face as she notes the fresh air filtering in. Tobin can’t inhale as she’s intoxicated by Christen’s perfectly disheveled look. Her curly hair over her shoulder, the tired, but at-peace, disposition, and the comfortable clothes that somehow perfectly accent her body.

Her mind rattles as she attempts to make a decision about how to react. As much as she longs, lusts even, for her wife, the hurt and the confusion of the past few days holds her firmly to the couch, video game unpaused. She utters, with the best nonchalant inflection she can manage, “Hey, babe.”

Christen takes in the sight of her wife—feet propped up on their coffee table, video game controller in her hand, looking casually beautiful. Seeing Tobin makes her feel warm inside; it reminds her that she is home. She allows herself to just react to Tobin, for the first time in days. She doesn’t think about it, she simply crosses the room and tugs at Tobin’s arm until her wife is standing up and leaning into a deep kiss. 

“It’s so good to see you, babe,” Christen breathes, realizing how much she’s missed her wife. The pain of the realization sits low in her chest.

“Hmmm…” Tobin hums against her wife’s lips. This is what she’s been craving. As slyly as she can, she hits the pause button on the game controller. After all, she can’t lose her game just to kiss her wife. Once her priorities are realigned, she drops the controller from her right hand and maneuvers her left around Christen grasping her ass and tugging her close against her body.

Christen collapses into Tobin and smiles against her lips “I don’t think that I realized how much I needed your lips. It’s a perfect welcome home.” 

Tobin pulls away and flashes her classic smirk, proud of herself for still providing satisfaction for her wife. “Glad to be of service.” She goes in for another peck. “I missed you so much.”

Christen feels warm in her wife’s embrace. “I’ve missed you too, so much.” As they fall onto the couch, a comfortable silence settles, as take in one another. Christen starts small talk, “So, how was your flight? When did you get back?”

“Typical. Too long.” Tobin responds, sinking into the cushions, while still keeping her arm around her wife’s shoulders. “Grateful to be greeted by that carpet. How was your drive? How was the site visit? Did you fend off the dickheads at this one?” she inquires as she mindlessly twirls a few of Christen's curls between her fingers.

Christen laughs at Tobin, still she feels her chest getting a bit tight. _Is now the time?_ She wonders. “Ha, no dickheads this time. Actually, this was probably the best site visit I’ve ever had. I told you my supervisor and his supervisor were coming in from DC, right? It was like the perfect time for them to watch me in action, given how smoothly everything went.” Christen pauses, hoping that Tobin follows up with a question that will organically ease the possible promotion into conversation. She takes a breath as she searches Tobin’s eyes. 

“That’s a lot of supervisors.” Tobin gazes into her wife’s eyes wondering why the government would waste money to send two high-powered deputy directors on a cross-country excursion. _They’ve never done this before… Why now?_ Tobin ponders. Her heart sinks as her neurons trace back through her memories. She drops eye contact with Christen and breathes in courage. Her gaze returns, and she queries, “Your boss’s boss huh? You never mentioned that…”

Christen can see the gears turning in her wife’s head. It’s written plainly on Tobin’s face: she discovered that there was something unique about this site visit. Her stomach ties in knots as she closes her eyes and inhales deeply before starting to speak. “Yeah, usually it’s just my boss, but they both came out this time. I thought it was because they want to do a larger functional restructuring of the region, but there was actually something else…”

“Something else...?” Tobin’s brow furrows.

“Yeah, well, there was…” Christen bites her lip trying to formulate the words. “I guess they came out to consider me for a promotion.” She casts her eyes downward slightly. “And they made me an offer.”

“Wow… wow,” Tobin breathes in the words her wife just released into the air. “That’s incredible.” She breathes out again, chest heavy. “What kind of promotion?”

Christen smiles at her slightly, a mix of feelings swirling in her head, “A pretty big one. Deputy Director for Operations of the Western Region Parks”

“That’s incredible! I’m so proud of you!” Tobin beams for Christen. The government is finally recognizing what a badass job her wife does day in and day out for them. “Oregon should be proud to have you, babe!”

“Thank you, love. It really is a dream job. But…” Christen pauses to gather herself. “It’s not in Oregon. It’s in Washington DC. They’d want me to be there in a month.”

Tobin’s jaw drops. “Washington? As in DC? Washington DC?” _The distance, the miles away…_ her face loses all color at that thought.

“Yeah, I know it’s a lot to ask of you, of us, but if I took it, they’d give us a nice subsidy to find a place out there. It could be nice. You’re getting near retirement age…”

“Subsidy?... _if_ you took it… retirement?” As she scoots back on the couch cushion, she can feel her temperature rising, and her face heating up.

Christen is flailing, desperately searching for the words. “No, babe, I didn’t mean you needed to… I didn’t mean to imply your career is... I wasn’t trying to say that you should…”

“I’m NOT retiring.” Tobin’s emotions are streaming through her unable to tether her to the couch. She’s standing and shouting.

“I didn’t mean I want you to retire right now or anything.” Christen asserts back, realizing her misstep,

“What?! You want me to request a transfer to the Spirit?!” Tobin accuses.

“No. I mean, not necessarily, we could still keep our place here. You could still be a Thorn.” Christen’s voice shakes. “Lots of people live out of market part of the year.”

Tobin shakes her head, desperately trying to calm down. Things always end poorly when she loses her temper. “I… Christen…” She can’t even formulate a coherent thought. “So you… you want… for us to live…” she can barely get out the next word. “Apart…” she has to inhale before continuing. “For nine months of the year?!”

“No... I... we could figure something out. Maybe I could telecommute or something for a month or two. And when you have off weeks, you could come home.” Christen found herself rushed and rambling, grasping for any semblance of control in the situation. 

“Home…” Tobin scoffs. “Portland is _home._ ”

“I know, baby, I know…”

“Or is it not for you anymore?” Tobin interrupts her wife unable to hear whatever excuse she’s concocted to make this all ok in her head. She flails her arms desperately around the room gesturing to the space that is their apartment.

“Baby, you are my home.” Christen’s eyes start to fill with tears.

“FUCK! You’re so selfish. Did you think of me while you devised this whole plan? Don’t you get it? I’m a Thorn…” Tobin’s anger breaks, leaving way for her pain to gush from her heart.

“I’m not saying you can’t be a Thorn, Tobin.”

Tobin shakes her head, her eyes now filling with tears as her wife’s have collected liquid in them as well. “I can’t believe this… you’ve just made this whole plan up… assuming I’d retire…” She's speaking to herself.

“Okay, Tobin. You need to calm down right now and stop blaming me. Do you want to talk about selfish? About making plans without the other?” Christen fumes, tears staining her cheeks. “How about that girl from the bar the other night? Huh? Is she part of our plan? Were you considering me when you basically fucked her on the dance floor?”

“Excuse me?!” Tobin aggressively wipes the tears that trickled down her jaw. Her eyes blaze into Christen’s tear-stained ones. “How… She’s not…”

Christen interrupts. “Did you take her home? Did you make her moan in your bed, Tobin? Take advantage of that fucking personal hotel room by having someone in your arms instead of wishing I was? That’s why you didn’t text me, right? You were FUCKING someone else!”

Tobin’s jaw drops. “How? How did you know?”  
  
“SO IT’S TRUE, YOU FUCKED THAT GIRL FROM THE BAR?”

“NO!” Tobin shouts not caring if any of their neighbors could be home.

“I know because I saw you on Ashlyn’s insta story, Tobin. But that doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is that your first response is “HOW DID YOU KNOW?!”” 

Tobin shakes her head interrupting Christen, “Fuck, Ashlyn and her shit Instagram.”

“TOBIN THAT IS NOT THE POINT.” Christen’s voice is cracking under the weight of her emotions.

“Yeah, the point is that you don’t like that I like to have a drink or two with the team…” Tobin spats, oblivious to her wife’s emotions.

“TOBIN, this is not about drinking, this is about you being wrapped around some other girl!” Christen breaks, her chest heavy. She feels gravity pull her down onto the couch as she sobs.

“I wasn’t wrapped …” Tobin defends herself. “She was just some random chick at the bar… So what I can’t have a good time now? She didn’t mean anything. I was just having a good time...”

“SHE SURE FUCKING LOOKED LIKE SHE MEANT SOMETHING TOBIN!” Christen croaks out, before Tobin can even finish her thought. 

“So you assume all this from a fucking Instagram story? Did you ever stop to consider that I would never let it go that far?! Did you even think that I’ve been torn up over how _far,_ which wasn’t far AT ALL, I let it go?! I haven’t stopped thinking about it! You know, I’ve been a mess that you never said anything about me not texting you. The truth?! The truth Christen… is that I was so drunk I couldn’t type it without typos, and the last time I did that you blew your lid at me! So I didn’t text you, but you didn’t say anything back either!” 

“Tobin this sounds like a poor excuse, like something you’re making up to explain your bad behavior now that you know you were caught. You had a chance and you didn’t say a fucking WORD about this chick from the bar or being sad over being drunk, or the missing text, you just ignored it all.” Christen’s voice is calmer than it has been almost the whole conversation. She stares at Tobin, “Do you really expect me to believe you, Tobin?”

Tobin eyes her wife. She’s now completely calm on the couch. She’s staring right into her soul. _So why can’t she see the truth? Can’t she see I love her? Does she even love me anymore?_ Tobin silently pleads for Christen to see her… 

Externally, though, Tobin responds to her desperation with rage. “FUCK YOU!” she spits. _She doesn’t see me. She doesn’t love me._ Her thoughts race, while her mouth continues on its rampage. “Yeah, I expect you to believe me. You know, we said in our vows, we’d always be loyal, always have each other’s back… So fuck you for not trusting me.”

Christen nearly doubles over as Tobin’s words hit her in the gut. Tobin has never screamed at her like this. She feels her heart pumping in her chest as heat rises through her whole body. She wants to run. She needs to run. She won’t give in, she won’t be the victim. “Fuck me?” She asks, her voice calm and steady, “Maybe if you were FUCKING fewer strangers, Tobin...” 

Christen knows it’s uncalled for, she knows that their problems stem from them both, but she is seething. She wants to cause her wife pain. “Maybe if you actually put any effort into this marriage, the way you do into getting drunk and seducing other women in public, this wouldn’t be such a fucking issue. Maybe if you tried half as hard at making us work as you do at taking shots in a bar after games, this wouldn’t even be an issue. Or maybe it’s just time for you to retire from this, too,” she sneers. 

“Tell me what you really think, why don’t you Christen Press?...” Tobin chuckles emotionlessly. It’s her only mode of operation right now because if she really allows those blows to hit, she’ll crack into disrepair. She’d wither away in pain. Tobin raises an eyebrow at her wife, her lips pursed before she smiles slightly. “It’s a good fucking thing I said all that sappy shit to you on our wedding day.... or else I might _retire_ from this bullshit.” She nearly gags repeating her wife’s sharpened words.

She turns her back and strides over to her duffle. Thrusting each foot into a slide, she angrily snatches up the bag flinging it over her shoulder. “And for your information, Christen,” her mask drops for a slight second before it reinstates itself permanently over her face. “The only woman I FUCK is YOU.” she enunciates each of the last three words.

“MORE LIKE FUCK OVER. YOU WANT ME TO GIVE UP MY FUCKING DREAMS FOR YOU, TOBIN. LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN THINK TWICE ABOUT IT.” Christen screams as Tobin is pushing out the door. 

“Keep spouting shit, Christen. It’s all you seem to be able to do these days.” Tobin returns one last below-the-belt shot before slamming the door shut.

Christen rushes toward the door, thoughts swirling in her head. She has it in her mind to pull it open and shout, but by the time she reaches the entryway, she feels the weight of the whole situation overwhelm her body. She feels guilt and shame rise up her throat. She collapses, crying softly, leaning her head back against the door as she whispers aloud, “I’m sorry. I know I’m pushing you away. I just want you to choose me again.”

The door slamming shatters the mask that’s been concealing Tobin’s emotions. She leans back against the cold door. It chills her body to the bone. Regret, confusion, devastation, agony all hit her at once, as she sinks down to the ground. Most of all though, self-hatred bubbles violently against the surface. “How could I have fucked this up so badly?” The words slip quietly out of her tightly drawn lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know this has been a very angsty fic and we've been delivering it during a time that is really tough for a lot of people. 
> 
> We want to follow restlessvirtue's lead and assert that we believe that Black Lives Matter and we are doing things in our own lives to try to make that clear including using the very small platform we have here. We hope readers and other fic writers will join us in supporting the Black lives in their community through their business patronage, donations, votes, activism, and by speaking up and having tough conversations with others. We hope for a world where nobody needs a hashtag to assert that their lives matter. We recognize that will not happen with a lot of difficult and important work. To join us, you can start here:
> 
> [Black Lives Matter](https://blacklivesmatter.com/)  
> [We Can't Breathe](https://www.wecantbreathenational.org/)  
> [Joint Bail Fund for Protesters](https://secure.actblue.com/donate/bail_funds_george_floyd)  
> [Massive google doc with links to donations, petitions, education resources, etc.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-0KC83vYfVQ-2freQveH43PWxuab2uWDEGolzrNoIks/preview?pru=AAABcqEkIms*A7j6hp-EQOsPmXoVcoJGyw#)  
> [State-by-State Resistance funds](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZIvDZpHqvNZkf8dGFXVjfk-Wq0Y9FTG410NJbH_8K8M/edit#gid=0)  
> [75 Things White People Can Do Right Now](https://medium.com/equality-includes-you/what-white-people-can-do-for-racial-justice-f2d18b0e0234)
> 
> Thank you for doing the sometimes-uncomfortable but essential work with us in your cities, workplaces, and homes.
> 
> Be well, be dope, make your life count,  
> mp + JCAL


	6. I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back

When Christen crawls into bed that night, she somehow feels more alone in their master bedroom than she had all of the previous nights in a rented room in a strange town. She is more broken than when she saw the picture of Tobin dancing with a stranger. She thinks about how they have taken a sledgehammer to the foundation of their lives. She looks around their room feeling as though it might crumble to pieces and bury her at any moment. She yells into her pillow, her body appearing to sob, though no tears fall. They are long dry and she is turning numb. It’s as if she’s fallen through thin ice into a freezing river and is accepting that she cannot pull herself out. She lays on her side of the bed and reaches out to Tobin’s side as if she can manifest her wife simply by holding her hands where Tobin belongs. 

Christen finally passes out after several hours of sleeplessness, feeling desperate and wrecked. She wakes the next morning as she hears a key slide into the lock of the front door and turn. Her body stiffens as she tries to prepare for Tobin to walk in. She glances at the bedside clock: 4:45 am. She wonders why her wife is coming back so early. _Or is it late for her? Is Tobin about to stumble in drunk and pretend nothing happened?_ She can’t decide what to feel. Her mind is reeling as she hears the bedroom door latch click and Tobin tiptoe in. Christen keeps her back turned to the door, both hoping and dreading that Tobin will climb in and hold her. 

Instead, the room fills with a faint yellow glow as Tobin switches on the light in the closet. Christen can hear her delicately sorting through clothing on hangers and softly opening drawers. Then she hears a soft zipping sound, and the illumination fades. Christen rolls over to face the door. Tobin is on her way out of it but seems to freeze. Christen hears her wife’s voice float through the air at a volume just above a whisper, calling her name, but she can’t muster the courage to speak back. So she just turns her back toward Tobin and pulls the covers close and into her chest.

Tobin steps outside of the room and closes the door softly. Christen whispers, then, too quietly for Tobin to possibly hear, “Come back, my love.” A tear slides down Christen’s cheek as she hears the front door close, and Tobin turn the key to lock it again. 

Christen’s alarm sounds obnoxiously at 8:30 am. She’d set it late to allow herself a bit of extra sleep, a few extra moments to avoid the world. She had actually managed to fall back asleep sometime in the hour after Tobin left. She is grateful she will not be totally exhausted all day at work. 

Her first instinct after silencing her alarm is to turn over and see whether Tobin came back last night. However, as she shifts, she knows that it’s foolish to hope. The bed is too cold, too still. She’s all alone. The sensation is overwhelming and heartbreaking. Still, Christen knows she has to push through it: she has things to do today. 

Christen gets up and readies herself for the day without much fanfare. She does little to hide her somber mood: she dresses plainly and applies minimal makeup. She’s not expecting to see more than one coworker today, anyway. She’s not hungry, she’s just anxious and sad; so she settles on a cup of coffee for breakfast and packs an energy bar in case she gets hungry later. She is certain work will help re-center her--that it’ll give her a bit of shelter from the storm that’s swirling around her

When she arrives at the office at 10 am, she sees the red light indicating that she has several waiting voicemails. It’s typical to return from a trip to find voicemails, so she thinks little of the blinking light. She settles into her office; her throat still tight with emotions over the fight with Tobin. After answering a few emails, she returns to her phone and pushes the voicemail button to listen to them on speakerphone. The first three or so are typical: requests for guidance on an environmental issue that came up on public land, a question about operations in one of the forests, a inquiry for her to do a brief interview on her response to recent administration policies. Then, a fourth message starts to play, and Christen recognizes her boss’ voice. 

“Christen, I am very sorry for the last minute notice, but we are wondering if you might be able to come out and serve as acting director until you are officially appointed director. There are some big things coming down the pipeline from up high, and we really need a strong showing of leadership this time. We can get you on a plane to DC this afternoon if you’re able. After about 3 weeks you’ll be able to go back to Portland and gather some things. We can have movers pack and everything to make it an easier transition for you and your wife. I know it is very abrupt, but I hope you will consider it. If nothing else, we could really use you out here this week. Please call me back, and let me know.” 

Christen hears her heart pulsing in her own ears. She considers all of the possible implications. _Could she move, right now? Would Tobin at least come for the offseason so they could see if it would work?_ Christen glances at her hands to check whether they are shaking—they are not. She speaks out loud to hear whether her voice is steady — it is. She picks up her phone and dials. 

“Hi, it’s Christen… I don’t think I can agree to just move to DC permanently without talking to my wife… A trial phase? That does sound like a really good idea, actually… Okay, I will come tomorrow, but I can only promise a week right now… Actually, can I call your assistant to book her ticket on a separate flight? She has training, you know how it is; she might have to come out a bit later than me… Okay, awesome. Perfect. This sounds great. Thank you, again for the opportunity…You too, take care. See you tomorrow.”

Christen hangs up the phone and sighs. She picks it back up and dials Tobin’s number. It rings several times before reaching voicemail. She tries again to no avail. The third time she gets Tobin’s voicemail after two rings. _Tobin is intentionally ignoring her call_. She opens up her text messages with Tobin and types. 

“They want me in DC to be acting director starting tomorrow.”

“One week trial period to see what I think of the job.” 

“Come with me, please?”

She doesn’t even see the text bubble pop up. So, she adds: 

“I am heading home at lunch to pack.”

Still, nothing. 

When she gets home, there is no sign of Tobin. She packs her large suitcase with ease; all of the travel has made this part automatic. She knows exactly what she needs. Still, she can’t help but feeling like it’s too easy. That she might be really truly walking away from Portland, _from Tobin,_ and that it is just _so damn_ easy. In her heart, though, she just knows Tobin will come. She knows they can make it work. At least she deeply hopes they can. _Surely Tobin will chase her._

She received her flight confirmation on the way home; she’s leaving in four hours. She has barely enough time to stop back by the office and retrieve some important folders before leaving. Still, she picks up the notepad they keep on the counter and starts to write.

_Dear Tobin,_

_You are the love of my life. For better or for worse. We said that to each other. I’m sorry that it’s been worse lately. I hate leaving you like this. Leaving us like this._ _~~I don’t know what to do I just~~ _ _Please just come to DC for a few days. I could have a million successes in my career but they are nothing without you. ~~I’m begging you.~~ ~~I’m sorry.~~ ~~I need you.~~ ~~Choose me.~~ ~~I swear this isn't Boston again.~~_

Christen is frustrated. She continues to cross out what she’s writing. It’s not typical for her. She _always_ has the right words, but now, when she needs them to be perfect, she can’t find the right thing to say. She tears the page from the notepad, crumples it up in frustration, and throws it in the trash. She doesn’t even bother to remove the portion of the paper that didn’t tear off cleanly. She’ll call Tobin; they will talk. That’s what should happen. 

She tries to call Tobin again a few times, but she gets no response. 

She takes a rideshare to the airport. On the way she calls Tobin twice more, feeling increasingly frustrated with every ring. 

Finally, she texts her wife:

“Going to DC. Please come with me. I’ll email you the number of my boss’s assistant. Just call him, and he’ll book your ticket. Tobin, this cannot be it. Please, don't let this be it. I don’t want this to be it.”

She turns off her phone as she boards the plane, not having heard a word from Tobin. She hates the sinking feeling she has as the phone powers down: _is she running away?_

She repeats in her head: " _This is different. This is not me leaving her again."_


	7. The less I give, the more I get back

She winds up at the only place she knows she can go to numb the pain: the dive bar down the road from their apartment. The sun is barely setting and she’s staring down at the bottom of her third glass. This is not how she expected the night to go. In fact, it’s so far from it, she nearly believes it’s all a bad dream. She had hoped she and her wife would grab some delicious take out and share each other for dessert. After all the time separated, they’d fall asleep holding one another as if the world would stop spinning if they did not stay close to one another. Instead, she’s staring at a small puddle of whiskey pooling at the bottom of the glass. She tilts the glass back again, attempting to suppress the feeling of bile rising in the back of her throat, her emotions threatening to emerge again. The remaining liquid slides down her throat pushing the sense of being utterly wrecked back into the depths. 

Out of habit, she raises her glass up, clinking her ring against it signaling to the bartender she’d like a refill. That stupid clink coaxes those emotions out again. The ring is a tangible reminder of everything she’s fucked up in the last 96 hours. Yet, as much as she doesn’t want to even think about that, she can’t bring herself to remove the ring. Removing it would cause her more pain than to stare at the poignant reminder.

As she begins to nurse the next drink, she drifts into her memories pulling out deep regret and devastating guilt. The small palpitations of her heart at the dance bar that night had not been worth the suffocating clenching tonight. Those moments of blissful release at the bar were not worth the agony that’s surging through her. She can’t erase the brokenness that crossed Christen’s face when the events of that night first surfaced in the conversation.  _ It was a conversation still at that point, right? _ She insists to herself. She despises the disgust that replaced the brokenness moments later. Her wife honestly believes that she fucked another woman. Her wife honestly believes that with a few drinks she’d abandon everything they had built up.  _ Does she not trust me anymore? Doesn’t she know how madly in love I am with her still? Why can’t she see me?  _ Tobin pleads to the whiskey, to herself, to the universe. 

After six whiskeys, it’s clear--crystal clear--nothing will numb the pain tonight. She pays her tab and exits the bar. Now the real dilemma presents itself. Where to now? She briefly considers crashing on Sinclair’s couch. The Thorns captain would definitely let her spend a few nights there and wouldn’t ask too many prying questions. But she nixes the idea, worried that she would just be a burden in her current state. So she begins the stumble back toward their apartment. As she teeters down the sidewalk, she contemplates what she is going to do upon returning. Does she sleep on the couch? Is that the right protocol for this situation? She doesn’t know; she’s never been in this situation before. Can she slip into bed to lay next to her wife? Can she risk pulling her close and holding her, whispering apologies to her, begging Christen to forgive her?  _ I just need Christen. _ Tobin thinks as she’s fumbling to pull her key from her pocket.

Just as she prepares to insert though, a different flavor of bile rises up her throat. This isn’t  _ their _ home anymore. Christen has chosen to make her home somewhere else. Her wife had made that decision with no regard to where her home is, where their home is. Rage once again overflows Tobin’s veins, and she can only retreat from the door.

She ends up at the only place she can think of. Floor zero. The parking garage. Not even the cold can cool off her overheated body. The unlock beep fills the eerily quiet cement enclosure. Furiously shoving the duffle into the back, she sinks down into the passenger seat. She bitterly tosses her keys on the dashboard after locking herself in.

Her anger threatens to choke her as she recalls all the different ways that Christen had surmised this would work. They’d move to Washington. Christen would have her dream job and be perfectly happy. But she would be forced to either split time in locations across the country from one another, or she’d finish her career at the Spirit. Or she would retire now, but that’s not really a feasible option. She’s nowhere near ready to retire. She knows that would certainly destroy them: she would resent Christen far too much.

Her mind can’t fathom the notion that Christen could make so many grand plans without her. No consideration that they’ve spent the better part of their entire relationship here in Portland. Everything they know is here. Their livelihoods, their friends, their commitments. Plus, there’s good food and good soccer which equates to a good life. Not that DC can’t have those things, it’s just that Tobin likes  _ her _ things. She likes things the way they are.

Self-doubt bubbles to the surface replacing the rage. Why didn’t Christen share that she was up for this big promotion? Why wouldn’t she share this monumental decision with her? Why didn’t they discuss this before she even got an offer? Does she not want Tobin in her life anymore? Has she moved on? What had Tobin done wrong? How long ago did she mess up? 

The dam finally collapses and she weeps. Head against the dashboard, she truly cries. She mourns the loss of trust in her marriage. She grieves the mistakes that are threatening to crush her. She’s embittered over the nerve that Christen has to accuse her of adultery and she’s devastated that her wife is continuing on without her. Her emotions continue to seesaw all night into the morning. 

It’s not until around 4:30 in the morning that it dawns on her that she has to return into the house. She’s only got a few t-shirts and shorts in the duffle she hastily grabbed in anger on her way out. She needs real clothes: some hoodies, joggers, a pair of jeans and a hat (can’t forget a hat). 

Taking a deep breath, she finally moves her catatonic body out of the car. After the long night switching between rage, grief, hurt, and numbness, she’s sobered up. Tobin fiddles with the key in the lock before entering their home. As silently as she can, she maneuvers herself into their bedroom. She refuses to allow herself to even look toward the bed. She scrambles into the closet flipping on the light. She curses under her breath. The bright light is so abrasive to her bloodshot eyes. After grabbing the necessities and sliding on her favorite maroon “Bodega” hat, she zips her now-much-fuller duffle.

She slinks out of the closet tiptoeing toward the door to the room. Try as she might to resist the urge to look at Christen, she can’t. She freezes, door agape. She takes a deep breath and angles back to find her wife now facing her. She imagines her wife looking at her in the dark. Christen’s eyes still have the ability to melt her heart even after all this.

“Christen,” the name just slips from her lips. She studies her wife’s form. Tobin's mind registers that her beautiful wife is only a few mere steps away. Just as the words, “I’m sorry.” are about to leave her lips, Christen flips over, her back facing toward Tobin.  _ She literally turned her back to me; symbolism really is a bitch, _ Tobin thinks bitterly to herself as she retreats from the bedroom, out of the house, and down to the basement.

She tosses the full duffle bag into the back of the car and drives herself to Providence Park. Once there, she changes into old shorts and a shirt, trades her slides for football boots, and marches out onto the dimly lit pitch.

As the sun rises, Tobin trains. She drives the ball back and forth across the pitch long ways. She runs up and back, her lungs gasping for air. When the sprints fail her, she hauls the goalpost into the 18 to practice crossing. Each time she aims for the crossbar and each time the ball dings off. Her body listens and obeys every directive issued. The sun is now pouring down in the Park. After three hours of draining her muscles, she moves onto the harder task: exhausting her brain. The next hour is spent juggling the ball and tasking her legs with the most complicated tricks. Typically this play delivers great delight, but today she won’t allow herself that joy. She only has one objective: to distract all her senses.

She’s failing though. Because as tired as her body is, as much as she doesn’t want to kick the ball one more time, she does. She has to, she needs to. When Tobin finally concedes, she allows her body the luxury of lying on the turf in the middle of the pitch. Tears fill her eyes again as a thorn jabs itself into her heart. This pitch, Providence Park, no longer feels like home, if Christen never returns to the stadium to celebrate her, to be her biggest fan.

Tobin drags her body into the locker room. Staring up at the clock, the hands blur back and forth. When she’s finally steadied her vision, she registers that it’s nearly nine in the morning. Four hours of driving her body into pure fatigue. Her last energy is spent removing her boots and flinging her body onto the locker room couch.

Her sleep is rudely interrupted by her phone blaring. Exhausted physically and mentally, she allows it to ring through, but by the third ring, she stalks over. Her wife’s photo doesn’t give her the usual joy it does, and she jams her finger against the glass onto the red decline button.

By the time she regains consciousness from her deep slumber, she’s got an angry krick in her neck. But she quickly forgets it as she looks through the notifications on her phone. Christen had left. Gone to DC. Without her. She’d taken a job and left without even talking to Tobin. Despite the pleading at the end of the message, Tobin audibly scoffs not believing a word of it.  _ If she honestly didn’t want this to be, she wouldn’t have left _ . Tobin tells herself. Her insecurities begin to creep out though.  _ Christen left… without me… is it? … Is it for good this time? Did I scare her off? _

That evening, she returns to their home. It’s quiet and dark; Christen drew all the curtains before she left. She flips off her slides and throws her duffle to the side as the door slams. The eerie silence is interrupted by her stomach growling. She heads straight for the kitchen, hoping that food might help her feel better. She beats the eggs with violence and curses at the toaster, all of her feelings now being taken out on breakfast food.

As she plates her food she notices that there is a notepad on the counter, out of place. Out of habitual respect for Christen’s need for organization, she immediately moves to return it to its proper location. It’s then she notices the jagged edges where the top layer had been tugged off carelessly. Assuming it was her own doing, she rolls her eyes wondering how she didn’t get chewed out for that by Christen. But her eyes stop on the writing still present on the corner. It was her name etched in her wife’s handwriting.

_ A letter.  _ She decides after reading the not-quite shredded “Dear Tob”. Her heart pounds as she spins around to look on the island for the other part of it with the message. No paper is present there, so she scrambles over to the coffee table to find that also without the sheet. Hesitantly she returns to their bedroom hoping to find it there, but no such luck.

“FUCK!” she swears, wanting to find a letter Christen wrote to her. “Tobin, think…” she tells herself. It dawns on her with the uneven rips, the letter was probably a mistake. Dashing to the trash, she recovers it from under a nest of eggshells.

“Shit.” Tobin mutters as she holds the note over the trashcan again. “Christen threw this away for a reason. She didn’t want me to read this.” she’s talking aloud. No one replies and she can’t help her curiosity.

Her hardened heart cracks. Her eyes reread over and over again Christen’s words.  _ Why did she leave then? She’s gone again.  _ Tobin cries to herself. The wounds of Boston freshly reopened; her thoughts swimming through guilt and pain.  _ She’s giving up on me… _

The air in the room seems to chill and Tobin cannot help but feel that she is standing on a pile of rubble. The silence is suffocating. The only thing she can think to do is flee. Maybe if she runs, Christen will realize the mistakes they made: maybe if she gives as little as possible, Christen will be forced to come back. Unable to stay in the house she shares, shared, with Christen, she returns to Providence Park resigning herself to sleep on the locker room couch. She can’t help but feel a few more thorns stabbing into her stomach as she drifts into slumber.  _ Portland isn’t home anymore. Not without Christen. _


	8. Your hands can heal, your hands can bruise

When Christen’s alarm rings at 8:30 am the next day, her first thought is about how exhausted she is. The jet lag coming east always kills her. Even though she often wakes up around this time at home to do yoga, it feels impossibly early at present. It’s like Pacific time is in her blood and actively fighting Eastern time. She is glad that she is not due into the office for her first day until 10:00 am. 

She checks her phone to see if Tobin has called or texted, but finds nothing. She imagines Tobin in their house, sound asleep in their bed, snoring softly. Or, maybe Tobin has moved out. Maybe that’s why she came in early yesterday morning—she packed up and moved out. Maybe she is living with one of her teammates or crashing at some fan’s house paying her rent in sex. Christen shudders to think of Tobin with someone else. 

She hops in the shower and starts to ready herself for the day. At 9:05 am, when she knows the office is open, she calls her boss’ administrative assistant. 

“Hi, it’s Christen, Christen Press…

Yes! The flight was fine. Just preparing for the day now. I wanted to check on two things before I headed that way. First, is the badge situation worked out?... Okay, so I just call you when I am in the lobby and they’ll let me in? … Great! Okay the second thing: I’m wondering whether you’ve heard from my wife yet?... Oh… yes, please, could you check spam just in case… Oh, yeah no big deal… she had a really long training day yesterday, I’m sure she’ll reach out soon. I only got to talk to her briefly before leaving town and I know she has some commitments with the team to work out before she can book a flight.”

Christen regrets already lying to her new co-worker, but she knows her first day is not an optimal time to bring up her marital troubles. Plus, she is still holding out hope that Tobin will change her mind and come to visit. 

* * *

The next few days go by in a blur of exhaustion, paperwork, meetings, and trying to learn new faces. Christen takes meticulous notes, which she reviews every night in her hotel room. 

She grows accustomed to the routine. 

Still, there is a lead weight in the pit of her stomach--a sense that none of this can possibly be permanent. As the days pass, she stops checking in with the administrative assistant on whether Tobin has reached out. She must look either really desperate or really inattentive--a bad wife either way.  _ What kind of person doesn’t know what their wife is up to or if she is going to come to DC? _

Each morning she sends the same text to Tobin: “Good morning, I still love you.” And each night she writes Tobin an email about her day.

* * *

**_Tuesday_ **

Tobin, 

I went into the office today for the first time. They gave me a really warm welcome. The staff is really excellent; some of the best minds in conservation and environmentalism I’ve ever seen! It took them like two hours to get my badge and credentials processed, so I ended up staying later than usual. That's government work for you. 

Tonight I went to a little bistro near my hotel to get dinner. I had their pizza special: sausage and onion. I thought of you. 

I still love you,   
Christen

* * *

**_Wednesday_ **

Tobin, 

Work today was pure chaos. They seem to have been holding back yesterday with my workload. I feel like every time I turned around today someone was asking me to sign this or authorize that or weigh in on something. I came home with at least three binders worth of material I need to get through before tomorrow.

I decided to order room service to give myself some more time to read. I got a club salad, it was actually pretty good. I was really looking forward to exploring DC this week, but I don’t think I’ll get any spare time until at least Sunday. We have a department head retreat all day Saturday. I guess I never thought I’d be spending all day indoors, but it isn’t called the Department of the Interior for nothing. 

I still love you,   
Christen

* * *

**Thursday**

Tobin, 

Prepping for the meeting that i’m going to this weekend has been pure hell. But, honestly, not as much hell as it is missing you. I want you here next ot me to make mw warm. 

I broke down and bought a bottle of Whistlepig on my way home. I had a little bit of it tonight, lol. I’m just a teensey tinesey bit tipsy rn. 

I really miss you and want to share it with you. You’d like it. You like rye whiskey, too, just like me! Do you still want to share anything with me? Do you still like me?

I just need you to know: I’m not leaving you. This isn’t Boston. You know where I am and I’m not going anywhere. I want to fight for us. Please, fight with me? That sounds werong. Fight for us with me? 

I finally got my own assistant. I’ll put her contact information to the email okay? Come here, please. I will give you rye and love and be yours forever.

I still love you,   
Christen

P.S., Fuck communicatinngggg. Why is this so ahrd to do?! I love you SO MUCH tTobin. 

* * *

Christen is drunk and wallowing in her emotions. She thinks back to when she fled. 

They’d been married about seven months when Christen learned that her best friend in Portland was pregnant. She’d been so happy for the girl, but she started thinking about having a child with Tobin. 

She remembers sitting in her car crying, worried that she would be a terrible mother, feeling like she was letting Tobin down. They’d always talked about wanting kids. But what if she couldn’t? And, what if she could never be enough for Tobin? And, what if their marriage is doomed because Christen was feeling anxious and sad? Maybe she didn’t want any kid to turn out like her. Tobin could have any girl in the world: girls far more beautiful and far less messed up than Christen.

She remembers shaking in the car and having the impulse to just run far away. She had those impulses sometimes, when things got tough: the urge to just leave and never come back. But that day, it was different somehow. It was more than an impulse she’d shake off; it was more than an urge she could talk herself down from. It felt compulsory. Like, if she did not leave she would ruin both her and Tobin’s lives forever. And she loved Tobin, so she wasn’t afraid to admit Tobin was better off without her.

She went home, packed everything she could fit into two large suitcases, and wrote a short note to Tobin: 

_ Dear Tobin,  _

_ I am sorry, I just can’t. The car will be in Lot C at the airport. Goodbye. _

She’d left her wedding and engagement rings on the note, driven herself to the airport, and purchased the first one-way flight to somewhere she knew somebody. She’d called her college roommate, who was living in Boston, and asked if she could come visit for a few days, ostensibly while she was there on business. She didn’t tell Tobin where she was going at all, and she didn’t tell her friend why she was really coming.

She remembers the series of texts her wife sent, her phone ringing incessantly. She ignored them all. She stayed in Boston for a week growing desperately more guilty and regretful by the day. She became more and more convinced that she’d ruined everything in her life forever. And as the frequency of Tobin’s texts faded, she was certain that Tobin was realizing she was better off without her. 

Her friend was clearly worried about her. She’d figured out from the moment Christen stood on her front steps, face tear-stained with two large suitcases, that she was not in Boston for wok. After she heard the full story, she kept suggesting Christen call Tobin, but Christen just sunk further into anxiety and dread. She was almost catatonic when Tobin showed up. Tobin had held Christen close and told her it was going to be okay; she told her she’d love her forever no matter what. Christen had melted into Tobin, feeling total and complete love despite her selfish actions. 

When they got back to Portland they started going to couples counseling together. Counseling is how she learned she had generalized anxiety disorder. Tobin came to understand how to meet her needs during her particularly bad days. Christen also learned that Tobin thought and felt a lot of things that she couldn’t find a way to say. She came to understand that her wife was a woman of action rather than words. They’d talked through Christen’s worries about Tobin being so famous and beautiful and on the road all of the time. And Tobin promised there would never be anyone but Christen. “You’re the only girl for me, Christen Press,” she’d said. To this day Christen could still feel the warmth of Tobin’s forgiveness and love washing over her. 

As Christen falls asleep that Thursday night in Washington DC, she speaks aloud into the dark hotel room: “This isn’t Boston. Tobin knows this isn’t Boston.”

* * *

**Friday**

Tobin, 

Work went by so quickly today. Everyone was eager to get home to be with their families for the weekend. A lot of people left by 4 pm. I had to stay later to finish prepping for the retreat tomorrow. There have been a lot of policy changes with this administration, and I sort of feel like I am spinning my wheels trying to help guide policy. Still, today felt like the best day yet. I feel like I am really starting to orient to how things work around here, and multiple people have told me they’re really glad that I’m here. It feels really good to be wanted. 

I got out of work late today, so I grabbed some late night food from a local Ethopian place. It was SO GOOD. The guy working there was really nice, too. He even gave me some free Tej. I haven’t really been making social connections, because I’m everyone’s boss, so it was nice to have a friendly conversation with someone. 

Thank you for responding to my text this morning. My heart fluttered just seeing your name on the screen. I’ve missed it so much. 

I’m sorry that I wrote you a slightly drunken email to tell you how I felt instead of calling you. It’s just hard sometimes, especially when I don’t know what’s going on in your head. 

I’m forever yours if you want to be mine. 

I will love you always,   
Christen

* * *

**Saturday**

Tobin, 

The retreat today was both exhilarating and exhausting. It’s only 6pm and I’m already in my pajamas in bed, haha. I’ve got trashy TV on, whiskey in my hand, and room service pasta on the way. I got to meet so many new people and to hear about so many things going on with the Parks Service, the Forest Service, the Bureau of Land Management. I really felt connected to something bigger than myself. I’m so glad I got to do this, even if it’s only for a short period of time. It gives me a lot of perspective on the work we do in our tiny corner of the country. 

I appreciated your good luck text this morning. It’s amazing how you have so much power over me in your hands. When you decline my call, that push of a button sends me listing in the waves of life—I’m bruised by your fingertips. And, when you type a simple good luck text to me, it rights me—I’m healed by those same fingertips.

I will be home Tuesday, and when I get home, I want to fight like hell for us. I really hope you do too. 

I will love you forever,   
Christen

* * *

Christen presses send and closes her laptop. She takes a slow sip of her whiskey and considers everything. She’s decided that Monday she’s going to turn down the job. She thinks she can agree to come back for another couple of weeks and act in an interim position, but she can’t lose Tobin. Not like this. She knew it the moment she received the first text from her wife in days, that she’d never be her whole self without Tobin. 

She didn’t want to put that in an email or a text, it just seemed so impersonal. She’d tried to call Tobin after the meeting today, but Tobin’s phone went straight to voicemail.

She sighs deeply, satisfied with her decision to return home to the love of her life, and turns up the TV. She checks her watch, noting that room service is taking a bit longer than they had on Wednesday. She reasons that it must be because the kitchen is busy with a Saturday night rush at the restaurant. She decides that she’s going to try to call Tobin after dinner again. 

Finally, 25 minutes into the next episode of Real Housewives of god-knows-where she hears the knock at the door. She jumps out of bed, her stomach growling. She makes her way to the door, grabbing her purse on the way. She thinks about trying to make herself look less disheveled, but she’s sure the room service people see this kind of thing all of the time, so she simply pulls the door open as she’s digging into her wallet for cash for a tip saying, “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here. I am starving.” She holds out a $5 bill in front of her for the room service person to take.

As she does, her room phone starts ringing behind her. 


	9. I don't have a choice, but I still choose you

Tobin frowns at the black leather couch that now has an indent where her body has found disrupted sleep each night. Her phone dings with the nightly email Christen has been sending her. When the first one arrived, she nearly broke her phone when she chucked it across the room in anger and sadness. The signature thing Christen is doing frustrates her. Those same words haunt her again every morning. “I still love you.” _If she still loved me, she would have stayed._ Tobin thinks each time it pops up on her phone screen. Though those words do burn a hole into her chest. “I still love you”. They’re burrowing their way deep into her heart, where she yearns for Christen still.

Her phone buzzes again reminding her of Christen’s words. Staring down at the screen debating whether to tap the Gmail icon or not, Tobin decides she will read it after she gets dressed for team dinner. She tells herself she will only read it if there’s enough time. If not, it’ll have to wait until later that night when she returns. She shoves her legs into black skinny jeans and tugs a white t-shirt over her head. After brushing her hair to the side and sliding into some Jordans, she chastises herself. Of course, she has enough time to read the email. Perhaps naively she thought she’d require more time to get dressed, but maybe she was just hoping for a little respite from the heartache she’s feeling.

Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself to read of Christen’s adventures on her second day at work. The first email hurt to read. The words on the screen are incapable of expressing the excitement she knows her wife is feeling with the challenges of the new position. She can imagine Christen is buzzing with enthusiasm. The sausage and onion pizza had made her mouth water. Not because it was her favorite topping, in fact, she actively detested onions, but because it was the pizza they had on the day she proposed to Christen. Her nerves were skyrocketing that day, so her mumbling combined with a teenager’s first day on the job at the pizza place transformed her classic order of “sausage and pepper” to “sausage and onion." Christen had laughed at her the whole date as she watched Tobin trying to stomach the onions. But every bit of onion had been worth it when Christen said “yes” and agreed to marry her. 

Of course, their best date was still their first date. Christen had finally asked Tobin out after realizing the soccer player was too chicken to ask her out. They'd spent an evening together doing typical date things: dinner, dessert, walking through a park. But when Christen had kissed her, Tobin knew: she wanted Christen to be hers forever.

Tobin chuckles upon reading the first sentence of her wife’s email tonight. “Work today was pure chaos”. Tobin can imagine how much Christen would be exaggeratedly explaining her day if she were there telling her in person. She’s pleased her wife has many binders full of reading materials. She smiles at how much joy notebooks and binders give Christen. She knows her wife loves to be prepared. Tobin shakes her head not surprised in the slightest that of all the foods Christen could choose from room service she choose a _lame_ salad. After reading about food, her stomach growls reminding her of her plans that evening.

Lindsey’s apartment is bustling. The players who are left in Portland for the offseason are all congregated for a potluck dinner. Of course, though, Tobin forgets to prepare anything—Christen was always the one remembering that sort of stuff.

“It’s because Christen’s not here to keep you on track eh? Too many video games and not enough adulting.” Klingenberg mocks her. Tobin’s chest tightens at the thought. She really isn’t very responsible without her wife. Dinner is quite an affair and the players cover a whole host of topics, trash talking one another and discussing plans over the next few months. Tobin finds relief in being able to escape with her friends for a few moments. She tries her best to maintain a facade that everything is perfect at home. 

Nothing escapes the ever-watchful eye of Christine Sinclair, though. She’s been suspicious of Tobin the last few days. She's noticed that Tobin seems to always be the last to leave after their “kick arounds” and the her locker is stuffed to the gills. It seems odd given she lives only a fifteen minute drive down the street and could bring whatever extra “nice” clothes she’d need after practice with her.

* * *

Waking up on the stupid locker room couch is typically not an enjoyable experience, but it’s unpleasantness is magnified by the sudden onset of bright florescent light on and a voice shouting, “Wake up dumbass!”

“FUCK! Shut the lights off!” Tobin stammers pulling the blanket over her face.

“Nope!” she hears the voice of her captain as the blanket slips from her grasp and off her body.

“FUCK YOU, Sinc.” Tobin groans, daring her eyes to squint open. She takes in the overbearing figure of the Canadian towering over her before she glances at the clock on the wall and reads that it is 6 am. “What the fuck are you doing here this early?”

“I would ask you the same question… but by the looks of it, you’ve been here since late… am I right?”

“Why do you care?”

“First, because your elderly body can’t handle couch surfing anymore. Second, I want another shield and championship, and you do too. Third, your bed is cold in the apartment you own with your wife.” Christine raises an eyebrow.

“My elderly body? Yo, you’re five years older than me… talk about old. Will you even be able to raise the trophy over your head next year?” Tobin throws it right back.

“Yes, I do. Because my old ass is sleeping in a normal bed every night…” Christine isn’t backing down.

Tobin hangs her head...

“Why the hell are you on this couch Tobin?” Sinclair asks.

“I fucked up.” Tobin snarls with anger. “I fucked up, and Christen’s out of town.”

“Ok… so, even if you fucked up... if she’s not here… then you could go home. So go sleep there.” Christine reasons.

“I can’t.” Tobin’s demeanor becomes softer, more reserved.

“And why not?” Sinclair doesn’t back down.

“Because it’s broken rubble back there. I fucked up, and she’s off living her life without me. She’s off being amazing in DC. She’s pursuing her perfect career and she’s going to move there and live her perfect life without me.” Tobin curls up, tucking herself into the corner of the couch. “I hate myself for messing it all up, and I hate her for leaving me here after planning our future without talking to me.”

“Tobin,” Sinclair softens into a confidant and friend. “Why are you here and not with Christen? It’s offseason, you can go wherever you want.”

“I… the last… the last thing I said to my wife was in a rage. I could barely contain my anger. Yet every morning she sends me a text saying she still loves me. God, Sinc, she sends me emails every night about her day, and all I want is to listen to her tell me all about them. I need to hear her voice. I hate myself so much for causing her so much pain.”

“Have you tried telling her this?”

“No, because every time I pull up her contact, I can’t bring myself to do it. She just sprung this new job on me on Sunday… didn’t even tell me she was up for a promotion, until she had an offer and then she just… she just left Monday. She’s gone.” Tobin’s face steels. “She’s planned out our whole future around this…. There are subsidies for us moving, she suggested I put in for a trade or just live here in Portland for the season and live permanently out of market. I’m supposed to choose between my career and hers. How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Christine chuckles slightly and commands, “Tobin, you’re supposed to do two things.” Tobin looks at Sinc to find more of her captain and less of her friend. “One. You need to go home. If you don’t I will tell Mark, or whoever has the authority to kick you out of here.” 

Tobin laughs heartlessly, knowing there’s no room for argument. “And the two…”

“You supposed to get your shit together and your ass on a plane. Tobin Heath, I know you, I know your heart, and I know you don’t have a choice here. You have always and will always choose Christen first and foremost.”

Sent along with a gentle smile and a tight embrace. As Tobin navigates home, her steps are lighter. Sinclair was right: She always chooses Christen. And that hasn’t changed.

That night she chuckles at Christen’s email update. Her wife is always at her most expressive with some alcohol swimming through her. Tobin’s heart pounds when she reads, “Do you still want to share anything with me?” The fact it’s nearly one in the morning on the opposite coast is the only thing that stops Tobin from phoning her wife and demanding her assistant find the first available flight. She falls asleep dreaming of having that glass of Whistlepig with Christen.

The usual “Good morning, I still love you.” comes buzzing through her phone. Tobin immediately replies with.

“Morning Babe.” she sends that without thinking. The next minutes tick away as she composes the second part. How to explain all her emotions in a text message?

“I miss talking to you. Emails suck.” is what she goes with after multiple bouts with the delete button.

After her morning practice, she finally reaches Christen’s assistant. She practically threatens the assistant into get her on the soonest flight. It’ll depart Saturday morning, 9:35 am on Alaska Air. She curses jetstream and the timezone change though, as she is not slated to arrive until 5:40 that evening. It does, however, ease her conscience that Christen will be focused fully on her work retreat.

With a quick good luck text sent, a bag packed, and her heart on her sleeve, Tobin boards the aircraft to head east. The uber ride feels everlasting, and her heart is pounding in her chest the whole time. When she gets to the hotel, she makes her way immediately to the elevator to head up to the 23rd floor to room 2317—the room Christen occupied, according to her assistant. On the way up Tobin’s re-reads Christen’s nightly email. Her hand quivers as she reads the power her actions have. She is invigorated by Christen’s words saying she will fight like hell and hopes she will too. _Does showing up unexpectedly count?_ She wonders reading Christen’s last words. A reiteration of Friday’s closing thought, “I will love you forever.”

Tobin briskly strolls out of the elevator of the hotel elevator and down the hallway. She plants herself in front of Room 2317 and raises her first. She takes a deep breath, wondering why she feels so nervous to be here. 

_Knock. Knock._


	10. ...But I always will

“You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here. I am starving.” Christen holds out the $5 bill as she turns to glance back at the ringing phone. She briefly considers whether it might be Tobin, or work, and whether she should rush back in to answer. She spins around and drops the money on the floor as her eyes go wide. “Tobin?!?”

“Hmmmm…. Maybe I have the wrong door…” Tobin peers around to get a glimpse of the number. “Guess I’d better be going then…” she snatches the five dollars up and turns to depart.

“TOBIN!” Christen screams and chases her wife the few steps she’s taken down the hall. She jumps on Tobin’s back and wraps her arms and legs around her, pulling her in tightly.

“And here I was thinking you’d forgotten me for a delivery person.” Tobin chuckles and shifts Christen’s body around her so she can embrace her as well.

Christen melts into Tobin’s arms, dropping her weight down on the floor. “Babe, you have no idea how good it feels to have you here in my arms right now. I can’t believe you're here.” She breathes in Tobin’s familiar scent and feels a sense of calm sweep over her body. She jokes back, “And, don’t worry, the room service girl was only that one time, and you should have seen the food she brought. It was decadent. How could I say no?”

“Room service girl? Hmfpt.” Tobin rolls her eyes, planting a quick kiss on Christen’s lips. “I think I can provide a few more services you might be interested in.” 

“Oh yeah?” Christen teases cocking one eyebrow. “You might just have to prove it, then.” Christen steps back, placing her hands on Tobin’s shoulders. She smiles at her genuinely as she breathes just above a whisper, “You can’t imagine how thrilled I am to see you right now. I still feel like I might be dreaming or something.” 

“Not a dream babe…” She places a kiss on Christen’s lips “I’ll tell you what, though, I fucking hate flights east… I had to get up early, and then I was stuck in the air for a lifetime. Not a fan!” Tobin gazes into her wife’s eyes to find a sincerity that she feels like hasn’t seen in ages. Her eyes flick to the opened door of the rented room and suddenly all of her anxieties rush back in. Her insecurities cause her to wonder if she’s actually welcome in there. After all, the last thing she’s said to Christen was in anger and when she last saw her, the beautiful woman had turned her back to Tobin and then left the state. Maybe she didn’t want to be followed?

Christen reads the worry on Tobin’s face. She knows Tobin cannot read her mind; her wife must be exhausted and wondering what they are going to do. So she decides simply to take charge. She grabs Tobin by the hand and says, “Come on, babe, let’s go to our room. Dinner will be here soon.”

 _Our._ Tobin repeats in her head as a little smile crosses her face. _That sounds nice._ That tug of her arm feels nice too. Her eyes widen at the gorgeous room the government was putting Christen up in for the week. A queen could live in this room. _Correction, a queen is living in this room_. Tobin grins watching Christen flop back into the unmade crisp white sheets. Rather than an overhead light glaring down in the room, the elegant wall sconces illuminate the wooden wall stained a deep red. She turns her head from side to side taking in the room. A familiar suitcase is tucked to the side of the closet, where Tobin can only imagine each of Christen’s blouses are hung delicately and pants perfectly pressed and on the hangers. And on the desk near the corner, all those binders Christen described in her emails are splayed out.

Christen smiles lovingly as she watches Tobin take in the room. It feels like they’ve been apart for ages. And, really, they have. They’d both been on trips before their big blow up and hadn’t spent a night together in weeks. The thought of it brings tears to Christen’s eyes. 

“So…” Tobin rubs the back of her neck unsure what to say. She wants to ask about the retreat, but Christen had already written about that in the email. She contemplates apologizing, but _what if that’s not what Christen wants_ . So she goes with the simple, “this place is really nice. Kind of matches our style back home.” _OH fuck! Didn’t mean to bring up Portland._ Tobin chastises herself as the words escape her lips.

“It does,” Christen replies cautiously. “I think it’s really made me miss you a lot. Miss our place a lot. I’ve really missed waking up next to you. Sometimes, when I first wake up and my eyes are closed I forget I’m not home next to you.” She gives Tobin a shy smile. “It’s silly, I know.”

Tobin laughs deeply. “Yeah, I feel that. Right here.” She cracks a smirk and points to her hip bone. “It’s definitely not silly Christen.” Her tone turns serious and she hopes her wife can see her sincerity through her eyes as she matches eye contact. “I missed you a lot.”

“Babe, what’s wrong with your hip?” Christen crosses the room back toward Tobin and puts her hand where Tobin had indicated she was in pain. 

“Ah nothing that sleeping next to you can’t fix,” Tobin teases with a smirk. She bites her lip feeling like a giddy teenager as she feels her wife’s hand rest on her hip.

Christen smirks back at Tobin and pulls her close for a chaste kiss. When they separate she keeps her hands on Tobin and brings her in for a close hug. 

“That’s all I get? I flew all the way across the country for you.”

Christen cackles and pulls back away from Tobin before staring into her eyes sincerely. She smiles and presses their lips together, kissing Tobin more deeply this time. She tries to show her wife just how glad she is that they are together right now. 

Tobin wonders as they reconnect if Christen is aware of the hurricane of emotions swirling within her. She swears she’s experiencing each and every one of Christen’s. 

Christen presses into Tobin, desperate to close any space between them. Suddenly there is a loud knock at the door and from the other side a shout of, “Room Service.” Christen pulls back and smiles at Tobin. “Hungry?”

Grinning at the interruption, Tobin nods, reluctantly removing her hands from Christen. “Starved!”

Christen opens the door and lets the attendant bring in the tray and set it down on a space she clears on the desk. Christen looks to Tobin, who seems a bit bewildered.

“What?!”

“Tip the man.” Christen jokes. “You took the money!” She smirks at Tobin and attempts a wink. 

“Oh right…” Tobin fumbles through her pockets to retrieve the Lincoln. The man graciously accepts it with a chuckle, leaving the two.

“So, I hope you’re in the mood for pasta,” Christen says as soon as the door closes.

“Anything as long as it’s with you.” With a quick happy dance and a smirk-y peck on Christen’s lips, Tobin situates herself at the desk to begin to indulge.

Christen laughs as she watches Tobin being just so damn Tobin. Everything feels perfect in this moment. So domestic. They are themselves again. She doesn’t know if she should even say anything. _Will it ruin their wonderful moment? Is she kidding herself to pretend that any moment is real without having the discussion that is coming their way_? She cautiously decides that they probably need to address things before the night goes any further. She walks over to where Tobin is sitting eating. She kisses her on the head and sighs as she merely offers a heavy, “so....”

“So?” Tobin peers up at her wife with a mouth full of fettuccine alfredo. “Oh!” She flails her arms around dishing up a bowl and handing it to her wife. She even stabs a fork into the noodles for her. “Sorry, here ya go.”

Christen smiles genuinely at Tobin. “Thank you, babe, but I was trying to say “So… I think we need to talk some, huh?” Christen takes a bite of the pasta, cutting off any other thoughts she might want to express. She wants to make sure Tobin is on board with talking before she says anything. 

“Oh?... oh.” Tobin realizes this is the moment. _Could they maybe just skip this whole part where she admits to being an ass and move on?_ She wonders, biting her bottom lip lost in thought.

Christen swallows. “Yeah...oh.” She looks at Tobin, trying to catch her gaze, but her wife seems fixated on the pasta in front of her. “So.. this job.”

Tobin swallows. Her emotions had mellowed on the plane ride but have now come back full-force, overwhelming her. “The job…” she mutters. She inhales and stabs her fork down into the pasta and cheese. “Look, I get that it’s great for you. I do. That’s important. I think you should take it. But…”

Christen cuts her off and rushes out “I am going to turn it down,” before Tobin’s words register in her brain. _She said I should take it._

“No you can’t do that!” Tobin insists now looking up from the plate. “Look. This is important to you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Look, you can work here. I’ll be in Portland. I know you had it all planned out for me to transfer to the Spirit so I could be here too, but I just can’t ok? I need to retire a Thorn. I’ve devoted so much of my career to that club. They are my family.”

“Tobin, I don’t want you to give up being a Thorn. I never wanted you to transfer to the Spirit. I would never dream of asking you to do that.” Christen chews on her lip. “Do you really mean it? I should take this job?”

“Yeah…” Tobin gulps. This is what she set out to do: to choose Christen by allowing her to choose this career. “I’m not going to hold you back. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Tobin…” she sighs, “I don’t want you to think like that. I don’t want you to think of you and how you will be fine. I want _us_ to be fine. Actually, I want us to be great. I want us to be thriving. And, if you really think this job will get in the way of that, if you don’t think we can be more than fine…”

“No! It won’t get in the way…” Tobin interrupts. “We’ll be fine.” She corrects. “Look, the team’s family. So I’ll be fine. If you get lonely, you can visit my family up in Jersey. We can see each other when we can. Maybe go down to the warmth to visit your family for Christmas,” Tobin rambles.

“Tobin, don’t act like I’m moving out forever, silly! I can still come home on weekends, and when I take trips to the Northwest I’ll come home. And, you have the offseason. Kelley does it… you know she lives here with her girlfriend when she’s not in Utah or at camp/tournaments?”

Tobin’s brow furrows. “But you kind of would be moving away forever… It’s a three hour time difference. When you’re going to bed, I’ll be eating dinner. When I’m playing football, you’ll be snoring.” She picks up her fork and stabs the pasta again shoving some into her mouth, hoping to give herself a moment to think. She chews and swallows before continuing. “Look, Christen, Babe… It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Couples do long distance all the time. I’ll keep my hands to myself and you’ll be great here. It’ll be great.” 

She forces a smile after her ramble, before her face drops again as she admits, “Actually, I don’t know how easy it is to be great. I’ve been so lonely without you these past couple of days. You just kind of came home and told me you were moving on and then just left.” Her voice grows quieter. She breathes in willing herself to continue. “You know why this is hard on me right? You springing this job on me and then just disappearing across the country?”

Christen looks down at her feet, “Because of Boston?”

“Yeah… yeah because of Boston… Christen I don’t want you to leave me forever. It kind of feels like you are doing that.”

“I know, love. I know, but this isn’t Boston. I really really want to make this work if we can. I know it feels like I’m running away again. Like I'm pushing you away again. But that’s not what this is. That’s not what I want this to be. This is… this is just a chance to grow in my career, but I’m not willing to do that without you.”

“I get this is a huge opportunity for you. And I’m so, so proud of you; I always will be.” Tobin glances away sighing. “How do you know this isn’t the same? Look I know you’re pissed off because of that woman at the bar. I know I really fucked up. I promise nothing has come that close before. It won’t happen again. I promise. Please don’t leave me…”

“Tobin, it’s not at all about any of that. This is about us, this is about forever. You know I’m fine with you having a good time and dancing with other people. And I'm sorry that sometimes I get jealous, I was just so shook by the look on your face. Tobin, I’ve only seen that when you’re with me. I got insecure. It just mixed in with this feeling that I haven’t been enough for you recently. I know we’ve been having our problems and I know… I know sometimes I push, it just feels safer sometimes--I get scared that you’re going to find someone better than me. Someone who doesn’t have the urge to run when things get hard. It’s a sick cycle, I know: I’m afraid you’ll leave me so I try to push you away before you can push me away.” Christen breathes in and stares directly into Tobin’s eyes. “But I’m not going to leave you. I will never leave you again.”

“There’s no one better than you Chris. I am so sorry that my actions made you feel even a little bit like that was true.” Tobin says with a confidence she hasn’t felt in a long time. “But about this job…”

“What about it?” Christen asks. She’s already decided she needs to turn it down. She thinks her wife wants her to be in Portland to make them work. Now, it seems like her wife wants the opposite.

“This is the opportunity of a lifetime Babe. You need to take it!”

“You’re the opportunity of a lifetime, Tobin. This thing here, between you and me.” She gestures between them and rests her hand over Tobin’s heart. “This is everything to me. This is more than a promotion, or a raise, or anything.” Christen’s voice is filled with sincerity. 

“I will always love you. I get it ok… but Christen, you can’t give this up… we’ll be ok.”

“I appreciate it Tobin, I appreciate that you’re looking out for my career. And, you’re right. This is a huge...” Christen swallows her words as Tobin starts to speak. 

“But, I have to!” Tobin practically shouts. “You’ve been looking out for mine all this time… you’ve given up everything for me to play soccer. So you need to do this. We’ll be fine.” 

Christen’s eyes start to fill with frustrated tears and her voice cracks when she speaks. “But I don’t just want fine, T. I want everything we wanted, everything we promised each other.”

Tobin bites her lower lip. She doesn’t know whether she can give Christen all that she promised without losing herself in the process. Sinclair’s words rattle through her head, _You have always and will always choose Christen first and foremost._ She feels frustrated, and she feels herself losing control, “WHAT IF I CAN’T GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU WANT? WHAT IF I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!” Tobin shouts as tears fall out of her eyes. “I’M SORRY I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW TO BE WITHOUT YOU.” Her voice drops and she starts to whisper, “and I don’t know how I could just retire right now without losing myself.” 

The world is completely blurry to Christen now, she feels like she is losing her voice the louder Tobin gets. She calmly asks, “What do you mean, love? What do you mean you can’t give me everything? Tobin, I don’t want you to lose yourself. I just want us to be amazing, and to have everything we dreamed of together.”

Tobin’s jaw quivers as she examines how calm her wife is. She scans around the room. She can’t look at Christen’s face. She would do _anything_ for Christen. She’s going to. A few shaky breathes pass through her lungs. Her heart clenches as she feels like she’s spinning out of control. “Why can’t you just let us be fine?”

“I don’t want fine. I want good, I want great, I want a love for the ages. I want me and you forever. Always.”

“I’m trying to give you that!” Tobin grits her jaw. “Don’t you get that? I’m trying to keep us together! That’s why I’m here! That’s why I flew across the country!”

“Baby…” Christen studies Tobin’s face before continuing, “me too. I want to keep us together, too. And I just can’t tell if you’re going to resent me if I take this job. I can’t tell if you’re going to get tired of the distance and leave me.”

Tobin is breathing in deep. She’s focusing her emotions. She promises herself this will work; she won’t resent Christen for this. _I love my wife more than anything in this world; I always will._ One last clench of the jaw, and she speaks in a mere whisper. “I can’t give you everything from across the country. I _need_ you to have this. I _need_ you to be happy. I’ll retire, ok? I’ll move to DC. We’ll be us here ok?”

Christen moves into Tobin’s space. She places her forehead on Tobin’s and wraps her hands around the back of her wife’s neck. “Baby, no. That is not what I’m asking. I’m not asking you to retire. There will be other jobs. Yeah, this is a dream job. It’s the best offer I’ve ever had professionally…”

“Exactly, I can’t make you choose between me and your career.”

Christen finishes her sentence looking directly in Tobin’s eyes “...but you’re the best offer I’ve ever had, period.”

Christen’s eyes bore into her soul. Tobin can’t handle the shame that fills her. How has she ever deserved Christen? A woman willing to give up so much just to be with her? “I love you, you know that Christen Press?” She mutters softly.

“Yes. And I love you, Tobin Heath. I love you more than anything on this entire planet and I always will.” Christen’s voice is full of total conviction.

“You _have_ to take this job. I won’t let you give up your dreams! I’ll do anything you want. That’s what I promised, remember?”

“Tobin, my dreams are with you.” Christen replies back without hesitation.

“I can’t be your dreams though… I mean… God, Christen, take the damn job will you?” Tobin’s teetering on an emotional cliff, like any second she might drown in this charged conversation. She doesn’t know what else she can say to convince Christen to take the job. 

Christen kisses her. It’s deep, and meaningful, and it’s everything. 

With that, the physical connection… Tobin’s emotional storm dissipates. The only thing she comprehends is that her wife’s lips might just have the power to make her do anything. 

Christen breaks the kiss. “Tobin, do you really mean it?”

“Always and forever.” 

“Did you just quote Castle to me?” Christen jokes, wanting desperately to see the tension slip from Tobin’s face.

Tobin breaks out a wide grin. “It’s only the best bedtime show ever!”

Christen chuckles as she pulls Tobin into herself. “Babe, you’re so predictable. I love you. Listen...”

“So are you taking the job?”

“I... really want to,Tobin, but I can’t do it without you. Could you see yourself spending the offseason here at all?”

“Hmmmm….” Tobin scrunches her face, gazing up to her right side. “I guess I could, but only if I can bring my beautiful, amazing, intelligent wife with me too.”

Christen smiles broadly. “I guess you can bring her along,” she quips sarcastically before adding, “maybe it can work out better than we think. I know I have to spend some time traveling out West. I bet they would let me sync that schedule up so that I could be home for part of the regular season, and I can base out of home for my trips around the region. It’ll be cheaper than them flying me back and forth from here, and they won’t have to pay for a hotel room. I ran a few ideas by my boss this week, when I was trying to figure out if I could possibly make it work, and he seems on board with being a bit more flexible. Of course, I’m going to have to be out here a lot, but I really think we can make this work.”

Tobin’s eyes widen. “Do you really think they’d let you be home part of the year?”

“I am pretty sure I can work out something. And, if it’s not working out after a few months, I’ll step down. If I’ve learned anything over the past few days, it’s that we’re going to need to fight for us, and no job is worth not being able to do that.”

“Christen Press, I love you.” She plants a sloppy kiss directly on Christen’s lips.

Christen sighs into the kiss. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears. She feels like Tobin’s emotions are all wrapped up in the kiss. She pulls back to answer the question. “I just, I need you to choose me.” Christen replies shyly. “Not because it is easy, but despite the fact that it is hard. I just need you to choose me, Tobin.”

“I will always choose you Christen. I promised you that years ago, and I don’t ever intend on breaking that promise. I will always, without a doubt, choose you.” Tobin says steadily with no waver in her resolve at all.

“I love you, Tobin. And even when I don’t, I always will.” Christen’s eyes settle on Tobin’s. She knows that it’s not over. She knows that this is just the first of many steps toward a better future for them. She knows they can never get back what they once had, but she also knows that there’s nobody else in the world she’d rather redefine the future with. She feels in the marrow of her bones that they will make it. That they are going to be okay, and at the end of the day, they always will be. 

It’s not a fairy tale. It’s not perfect, not even close. But it’s theirs.

And it’s still theirs five years later when the stadium fills with red smoke and cheers as Tobin takes one last walk around the Park. Her huge smile only grows wider as a little curly haired toddler waddles towards her trailed by the Director of Operations for the National Parks.

“Hey Baby Girl!” Tobin drops to her knees to greet the giggling toddler.

“Congratulations on a wonderful career, Babe.” Christen says as she approaches the two.

“Thank you,” Tobin stands, balancing her daughter on her hip and pulling in for a kiss. She whispers, “Thank you for believing in us and teaching me how to believe, too.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for riding along with us. 
> 
> mp 🤙 (aka Tobin's perspective and voice)  
> JCAL ❤️ (aka Christen's perspective and voice)


End file.
